


Finding Sleep

by AGORAPHOBIQ



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Awkward Sexual Situations, Blood and Gore, Bombing, Childhood Trauma, Class Issues, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Relationship, Dreams and Nightmares, Drug Abuse, Drunken Kissing, Eco-Terrorism, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, F/M, Fantasizing, Fantastic Racism, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Guerrilla Warfare, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Interspecies Relationship(s), Murder, Possibly Unrequited Love, Pre-Canon, Racism, Rejection, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Watching Someone Sleep, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:46:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 87,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26604676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGORAPHOBIQ/pseuds/AGORAPHOBIQ
Summary: Pakra, a Twi'lek from Nar Shaddaa, is a new recruit who volunteered to aid in the Restoration Project on Telos IV. Her original position as a clerical worker is upended when the newly-arrived Czerka Corporation meddles in the affairs of the project, and Pakra is sent to do field research on the planet's surface. There, she makes the acquaintance of an Iridonian technician named Bao-Dur, and becomes involved in sabotaging the corporation's attempts to appropriate the Restoration Project.Takes place prior to the events of KOTOR2. Tags will be updated as story progresses.**In process of editing/rewriting chapters since I don't like how I wrote them the first time around.
Relationships: Bao-Dur (Star Wars)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (partially) rewritten 12/22/20

The alarm clock.

It ranged anywhere from a minor inconvenience to a necessary annoyance to most people. That shrill, ear-piercing sound jolting you awake every morning. It is expected, and entirely justified, if you grow to hate it. For Pakra, the alarm was something else entirely. It was the signal of another night survived. When she was immersed in the incorporeal torment of her nightmares, she would invariably be stirred by the alarm ringing. It was the reminder that those satanic visions are not permanent. They will end. Endure, and eventually, they will end.

_I am becoming sentimental towards my alarm clock._

“Off, please.”

A confirmation beep responded to the sound of her voice and the ringing ceased. The alarm was emitted by the apartment’s built-in communications console that functioned more or less like a computerized telephone: one of the many luxuries which she’d began enjoying on Citadel Station. The alarm had been set for six-thirty. Not significantly earlier than she normally woke up, although such a harsh noise would make any time feel much too early. The temptation to settle back under the ivory covers of her bed crept into her thoughts, exacerbated by the warmth they provided to her still-covered legs, but she found the resolve to resist the urge. Today was special, after all.

As she gathered her things, the residual discomfort of her nightmare weighed heavily on her chest; surprisingly so, for being unable to recall it. Remnants of panic audible in her breath, she sighed wearily, imagining the discomfort leaving her lungs as a hazy, grayish smoke. A visualization trick she’d learned from her mother. It worked alright.

Pakra was a Twi’lek, a pigeon-toed, slight of a woman in her early twenties. She had the enviable powder-blue skin and eyes of a Rutian, but was otherwise not memorable. Cursed with a superabundance of manias and phobias, the most apt descriptor would be ‘neurotic.’ She was far from the spitting image of a heroine—she was perhaps not even the heroine of her own story—and if she had the choice, she would leave all important decision making to someone else, someone with better judgment than herself, which is to say, almost anyone. Unfortunately for her and everyone else, she was a malleable and yielding woman, childishly eager to please but too incompetent to please even herself.

Her life had changed quite dramatically within the past year. Neither Pakra herself nor her life were ever quite ‘stable,’ but its course had always been expected. Through all of the thrill-seeking and self-destruction, she’d grown to stupidly regard fate as a reasonably dependable guardian, and one which would never let her stray from the path she’d envisioned for herself. Maybe destiny had purposefully cultivated that attitude in her, making it ever-sweeter when it prankishly withdrew its guiding light and allowed her to tumble into the abyss. After suffering an abundance of self-created drunken breakdowns, she was given a self-imposed ultimatum. It was a mixture of shameless manipulation and sheer dumb luck that culminated in her eventual defection from her homeworld, bringing her here, to Citadel Station.

This apartment had been her home for some months now, but most of her possessions remained in boxes, stacked next to her desk, in part owing to the fact that Pakra owned very little of substantive function. The apartment was no greater than three-hundred square feet, barring the bathroom, and came furnished with a desk and bed constructed with heavy-duty plasteel. The walls, the furniture, the door, everything was this sort of pearly off-white, giving the impression of an institution rather than a home. When she woke up in this white bed, under these white sheets, staring at white walls, she wondered if everything up to this point had been some elaborate conspiracy to institutionalize her, and any day now, she’d find herself imprisoned and unable to leave.

She’d unpacked the things of especial importance, in hopes that ornamentation might soften the room’s foreboding enamel, but Pakra’s prized belongings-- knickknacks, tchotchkees, assorted sentimental memorabilia that might be succinctly described as ‘garbage’ by anyone else-- only further intensified the feeling that she was a temporary resident here. Perhaps the most disturbing element of it all was the window. Yes-- the window. Flanked by chenille curtains, the window was actually a glass screen that simulated daylight, corresponding to Republic standard time. It was meant to help residents adjust to living on a space station, but Pakra did not appreciate the artificiality. She turned it off, only to discover that the sight of starships whizzing past her room to a background of never-ending blackness was indescribably worse. She turned the stimulation back on, and was subsequently greeted with ‘sunlight’ again each morning. If she watched the illusion very closely, she could see the afterimage of the ships beyond it.

But for the first time in three months, she could look forward to being greeted with real sunlight.

Pakra had been trained for the task, but this was wholly unfamiliar for everyone involved. The Ithorians could not have imagined they’d be so disastrously unlucky as to end up with this unskilled, barely literate, impenetrably dense Twi’lek, exquisitely unfit for her assignment. She acknowledged that even choosing her clothing this morning proved a perplexing job when you had never experienced terrain other than the urban wasteland of Nar Shaddaa, let alone what clothes would be most practical for this very specific landscape. All she could do was draw from what she knew: when it came to practicality, you couldn’t beat all-black. Black sweater, black pants, black boots, black head-covering, even, with the straps crisscrossing down her lekku. Examining the thuggish outfit in the full-length mirror, it seemed more fitting for a cat burglar than a field researcher, but it would have to suffice.

The final touch: a singular backpack, filled to the brim with field instruments and data collection tools.

“Please turn on vacation mode for seventy-two hours.”

“VACATION MODE ON: SEVENTY-TWO HOURS.” the communications console repeated back to her before dimming, followed by the remainder of the lights. For a moment, the room was still gently lit by artificial sunlight streaming inside the window, and with the normally white, sterilized atmosphere stained an uncharacteristically soft gray, it almost made her feel sad to leave, in spite of the short time she’d lived there. That feeling swiftly subsided once the simulation switched off, revealing the endless blackboard of space, chalked with stars, starships leaving blurry streaks after speeding by. She hastened to leave, lest the nausea set in.

The apartment complex consisted of some dozenish units, tenant count unknown. In fact, she knew none of her neighbors by name, and recognized only a few of their faces; unsurprisingly, they were mostly humans, given Citadel Station was Republic-operated. They exhibited the typical, incoherent human social contradictions, in which they were exceedingly friendly upon incidental meeting but otherwise maintained mutual alienation. For someone with a background like hers, it utterly defied comprehension, but was altogether inconsequential, even if she’d have much preferred the inverse.

In the center of the lobby, a receptionists’ desk sat, forged with the same impersonal, bone-white plasteel as her furnishings. Several receptionists worked here, the most oft-seen of which was a human, similarly-aged to Pakra, a shortish, crew-cutted but girlish woman, who would be entirely disinterested in her mundane job if not for the inherent voyeurism of it. There was always a tinge of inflected disappointment upon greeting the Twi’leki tenant, both girls aware that nothing polluted this Rutian’s life except monotony. She did, however, take note of her odd dress, and the backpack slung over her shoulders.

“Going on a trip, miss?” the receptionist asked, forgoing salutation. Pakra had been informed of the woman’s name once before, and promptly forgot it. Since, she has simply thought of her as ‘the receptionist.’

“Ah, yes, that’s right,” she icily replied. “I’ll be gone for a few days..”

“I see. I will alert any visitors of your absence, then.”

“Thank you.”

Pakra slipped out of the complex and into the public halls of Citadel Station, already busy with commuters and the occasional tourist. Weaving her way through the crowds, she followed the same course as the last ninety-ish mornings, which would eventually take her to the Ithorian compound.

In spite of the receptionist’s reassurance, Pakra was resoundingly certain that she’d have no visitors. Even when she wasn’t busy with her work, she was an unapologetic recluse, and had not ventured into commercial areas of the Station, except for alcohol. Given the choice, she'd opt for getting shitfaced at home over the cantina every time. Cheaper, and being a subpar conversationalist, she would probably end up drinking alone either way.

Her Ithorian acquaintances provided more than enough social anxiety to keep her perpetually daunted. She had been worried about earning their acceptance, by virtue of being the only Twi’lek; actually, she seemed to be the only non-Ithorian within the syndicate. More than that, all of the Ithorians were from the same herd: comparable to a tribe or clan. Pakra feared her arrival would be an intrusion into this sacred cultural and interpersonal space, like she herself was an invasive species. Luckily, though, the Ithorians were not so harsh a people as expected. There were barriers between them, and some extra caution was taken by both parties to navigate the uncharted territory of their relationship, but the Ithorians were a sensitive and hospitable sort, and the majority welcomed her arrival with terrific amiability. For that, she was beyond grateful-- even if their endearing attempts to be friendly could be a little overwhelming for such an introverted girl.

Even on a professional level, the Ithorians graciously taught their sole volunteer about the fundamentals of ecological restoration, in addition to the particulars which pertained to the Telos situation. Pakra never had any sort of formal technical or laboratory training or instruction. The entire realm of science, let alone the practical application of research, was a mystery to her. But they had to accept all of the help they could get, even if that meant extensive training. The surface of Telos IV, a planet in the Outer Rim, had been devastated during the Jedi Civil War. This group of Ithorians were tasked by the Republic to manage the ecological Restoration Project on the planet’s surface, in the hopes that Telos IV might return to some semblance of its pre-war self. Yet, the Ithorians were a small group, working with limited resources and meager funding. They would need help to successfully complete such a massive project, and they could not afford to be picky about who they chose.

What they weren’t expecting was the degree of Pakra’s genuine ignorance. Which was why, originally, Pakra was doing miscellaneous clerical work: data entry, taking messages, working the receptionist desk, managing accounts, bookkeeping, cleaning, shelving, sorting, stacking, packing, etcetera, etcetera. She was, in a metaphorical sense, the compound's vocational trash bin, made to do whatever task was deemed too menial for any herd-member, who were undoubtedly too overqualified for such trivial chores. She completed them with commendable efficiency, but they needed scientists working on the ground, and they were desperately lacking them.

Today, as usual, the Ithorians were already busy with their own affairs, tending to plants in the vivarium, or completing the logistical paperwork that the Telosian bureaucracy religiously insisted upon, or mapping out future sites of restoration and potential transplantation species. Plants native to the herd’s homeworld of Ithor dotted the compound's fringes and formed festoonery atop the doorways and arches, and a stupendous fountain was erected in the center of the main hall. It did not have the nostalgic, homey feel for Pakra that it probably had for the Ithorians; nonetheless, combined with the aura of the compound’s inhabitants, the area had a sense of life and light that could not be found elsewhere on Citadel Station. 

That said, the last several weeks had put a damper on the airiness of the compound, as a weapons manufacturer known as Czerka Corporation had officially established itself on Citadel Station. Pakra did not know the particulars of the situation, but from the snippets of information she’d gathered, it seemed they were trying to seize control of the Restoration Project from the Ithorians. Pakra suspected that the sudden proposal for her to do field work had something to do with Czerka Corporation’s presence. Perhaps they, or the Telosian Council, were putting pressure on the Ithorians for more concrete results.

Pakra reported to Chodo Habat, who oversaw the Restoration Project. Undoubtedly a warmhearted man, with an almost mothering disposition, and passionate about ecological restoration. On this front, he was unmatched: no other could be so knowledgeable about ecology, or as dedicated to it. There was always an air of infuriatingly benevolent condescension coming from the man: his posture and tone suggested he thought her a simple-minded girl (whether from being uneducated or simply being idiotic, she had no clue) but his unending, kindhearted nature made it impossible to dislike him. That aside, Pakra knew relatively little about Chodo Habat, except that he was one of the more aged of the Ithorians-- evidenced by his knobby, arthritic fingers and general sluggishness-- which conferred a sagely and refined energy to every otherwise-insignificant utterance. She was also aware that he was not terribly experienced nor comfortable with the political and economic complexities which were threatening the project with Czerka’s presence, which he left to his representative, Moza. 

“Good morning, Pakra. I trust you are prepared for your journey?” Chodo Habat knew Galactic Basic fluently, although his body was not physically optimized for speaking the foreign tongue, making his voice gravelly and his accent heavy. Pakra had trouble understanding him when she first arrived at Citadel Station, but by now it sounded normal to her. It was hard for Pakra to read the Ithorians-- save for the forthright readability of the eyes, they did not have the easily-decipherable facial structures of near-humans. But the uninflected inquiry gave him away. He tried to shake off the gloom, but he was too sensitive a creature to completely betray his emotions. 

“Good morning. I am.”

“Fantastic. The shuttle should be prepared by now, when you are ready to leave for the docking bay. You have all of your field supplies?”

Pakra nodded.

“Good. Your primary task will be to assess the cannok population, which was first introduced.. oh.. three months ago. You should also assess how well the population is assimilating to the broader Telosian ecosystem, and particularly the herbivorous species which it preys upon. If possible, bring back a cannok specimen-- but only if you determine that it would be responsible to do so, depending on the status of the surface’s community. Does that seem a reasonable goal?”

Pakra nodded again, thin lips scrunched into a purse as she waited.

“Perfect! Then--”

“Ah, if I may,” she interrupted. “Does my occupational change.. have something to do with Czerka?”

Chodo Habat felt some displeasure at Pakra unmasking his humiliation, although she’d surely meant no offense.

“Something like that, yes..” he was careful with his words, so as not to give his young volunteer the wrong impression. “The Telosian Council has been requesting more information about our recent transplantations..” It was not unusual for the Council to request regular updates, but they’d been much more stringent about the data they required, and overprecise regarding the deadline for receiving said information. “We don’t know for sure if it has something to do with Czerka, but..” ..it did seem that way.

“..I see.”

“We have heard from a friend on the surface that there have been Czerka scouting parties in the restoration areas,” he added, tentatively. “If you see anything corroborating that, do make note. But please, avoid any undue conflict.”

“A friend.. on the surface?” Of course, people sometimes went to the surface of the planet, as she would soon be doing. But the statement seemed to imply permanent or semi-permanent residence there.

“Oh, did I fail to mention him..? A terrible oversight on my part,” Chodo Habat apologized with inordinate penitence. “He should be at the old research facility, or somewhere near there… I will mark your map with the approximate location, and send him word that you are coming. He’s a technician, working on the shield systems. His name is Bao-Dur-- he is both a personal friend and ally on the project.. and a good person. Despite everything, he is a good person--” within milliseconds of finishing that statement, his pupils were speeding to meet Pakra’s, but found her stare unimaginative as ever. “Ah, I’m rambling.. I’m sure you will find satisfaction in his company.”

Pakra was hesitant. She was under the impression that she would be alone for the bulk of her time on the surface, and given the stress of being in a totally new environment, she was looking forward to solitude. If nothing else, at least she would have a member of the herd nearby for consultation.

“Do be careful, Pakra.”

“I always am,” she responded with a childlike smile. Chodo Habat was exasperated, but did not press it. Pakra took her leave, heading to the docks.

***

The docking bays were massive, divided garages designed to house freight carriers, and the Ithorians’ reserved bay was no different. Presumably, more space was utilized when transporting animal specimens, technical materials, and the like, but even so, it was difficult to imagine using it in its entirety. A single, solitary vessel sat patiently in the center, a smallish, shuttle-like ship that could hold no more than a dozen short-term passengers, only further exaggerating the enormously unused space. A member of the herd waited alongside the ship: a heavyset woman, donning pilots’ coveralls.. or were they repair coveralls? Either way, a woman scarcely seen, given her isolation on the docking bay, but not unfriendly.

“Ready?” she called out to the Twi’lek when she entered, the husky Ithorian tongue reverberating through the uncomfortably empty, metal cage.

“Y-yeah!” Pakra stuttered out a rather paltry attempt at shouting. She could not help but be anxious, now that it was actually happening. Boarding the shuttle, she was immediately hit with warm, humid air-- akin to that imaginary grayish smoke from this morning-- worsening her breathlessness.

“It won’t take long,” her pilot assured her, taking note of the tension in her stance. Pakra could only hope that was true. In the meantime, her mind drifted off into speculation as to what the surface of Telos would bring.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> partly rewritten 12-23-20

It was mid-afternoon by the time the shuttle had arrived on the surface of Telos. With her sickliness and tender body, the bulk of the trip was spent silently battling abdominal pains and the overwhelming urge to vomit. The rocky landing did not help. The determining motivation lied in preventing her from being disgraced in the eyes of this one Ithorian pilot; surely, she would not tell the remainder of her herd, but by god, she did not want to think of vomit every time they saw each other.

“T-thank you,” Pakra gave a spartanly bow, still enduring the roiling in her stomach.

“Of course,” the sprightly Ithorian woman replied, oblivious to the younger girl’s malaise. “I’ll be back in three days, 'round this time, maybe earlier. I’ll land in this same area, so don’t stray too far.” 

“I.. don’t think I could if I wanted to,” this sector Restoration Project still spanned only a small portion of the planet’s surface. 

“Take care, and good luck, Pakra!” 

The Twi’lek descended the ship’s steep loading ramp, taking her first steps onto the surface of the planet. Once out of range, the ship she’d flown in on roared back to life, causing a rush of air to surge through the grass, rippling across the surface in periodic waves. The deafening blare of the engines reverberated through Pakra’s head, and she instinctively recoiled, turning away. As the air settled and the cacophony eased, the ship accelerated back into the stratosphere, en route back to Citadel Station. 

Only a few short minutes after her first step on the surface, she was now totally alone. 

The prairie grasses were short here, presumably being where ships typically landed for transport to and from Citadel Station, although in the distance the grasses looked to be about knee-height. The mountains and valleys of the terrain would make it difficult to traverse, but there was no doubt that the rockiness gave character to it that was lacking in flatter topographies. Spiraling cliffs carved out the landscape, some of their heights insurmountable without climbing equipment, thus effectively fencing off forbidden areas. Mosses overhung from the clifftops like slithery, moistened shawls. She’d need to descend a steep hillside and navigate the bends of the cliffs to reach the test zone.

First, the overwhelming friendliness of the Ithorians. Then, the overwhelming relentlessness of the shuttle trip. And now, the overwhelming first sight of the surface of Telos.

She’d never left Nar Shaddaa prior to coming to Citadel Station. For the impoverished class there, if you were born on Nar Shaddaa, you’d likely die on Nar Shaddaa. For most of her short life, she believed that would be her as well. She never thought she’d visit a place like this in the flesh. She’d heard of places devoid of civilization, where there was nothing but wilderness for as far as the eye could see. She’d seen pictures, but such places were so detached from the reality of living in the urban jungle. In her mind, they were hardly different from fairytales and folklore. And yet, here she was, standing in just such a place. 

Even the air here smelled different. The smog on Nar Shaddaa from the manufacturing sector could become intolerable some days, necessitating the use of a breathing mask-- long-term childhood exposure had made Pakra rather frail in terms of respiratory capacity. Citadel Station was a vast improvement. But now, on the surface of this planet, she realized that the air there tasted much too artificial. It had an undercurrent of iron and disinfectants. Here, it had only the crisp flavor of chamomile and fennel fronds. 

Despite how lovely this place was, she could not help but feel a profuse sense of danger welling up in her chest. It did seem like a much bigger responsibility, but she figured it had to be better than filling out spreadsheets, right? She’d taken for granted the fact that she was sure of where she’d be sleeping once she clocked out. 

Settled in the tall prairie grasses as she recovered from her illness, her gaze drifted heavenward, meeting the bluish-gray sky, chemisey clouds broadening across her vision’s edge. The shuttle had left some, oh, five minutes ago? Or was it ten? Either way, it was long gone. She was stuck on this planet for seventy-two hours.

 _You can do seventy-two hours,_ she was urging herself, _that’s less than a single day on Nar Shaddaa!_ Seventy-two hours, she could lay in this grassy clearing for seventy-two hours, or, she could take her chances. Knowing was the easy part, overcoming fear was difficult. Mom told her, your knowing-self could outtalk and outsmart fear every step of the way, but you can’t reason yourself out of what you weren’t reasoned into. Only instinct conquered instinct.

She took the deepest breath her smog-deteriorated lungs would allow, breathing capacity only further lessened by anxiety. One breath in, taking in every bit of the planet’s life: the chamomile-steeped breeze, the berry bushes hiding little birds’ nests within, the flowers in full bloom, the sprigs of honeysuckle sprouting up from the moistened earth. Fruitful. Uberous. And an equal but oppositional exhalation of filthy smog, her body cleansed with its exodus.

_Let’s simplify the assignment._

Her goal was to assess the population of cannoks and their herbivorous prey in the restoration zone. Right. She would do two things: survey the quadrants originally marked by the team that introduced the cannok population, noting the total density of all non-sentient species within. She would also have to sedate the cannoks in the quadrants, note if they were marked by the initial team, and tag them if they were not.

It sounded easy in theory, though the quadrants covered a large portion of the restoration zone. This sector restoration zone was a massive swath of land, but it was still sizable enough to be an arduous task for a single Twi’lek. She’d need to get moving soon.

Her map was contained on a palm-size device, leatherbound to her wrist, additionally capable of some other functions, such as sending and receiving holotape messages. It was used infrequently. She wasn’t even sure if the messaging system would function here-- it hardly even worked on Citadel Station, it was so ancient. She couldn’t afford anything nicer on her inadequate government stipend.

The map gave her a general sense of the landscape and basic topography, and was already divided into the quadrants she needed to survey. Her location was marked, thus she could track her current location and direction. There wasn’t much in the way of landmarks or any other notable features on the map, except for one: the old Ithorian research facility that Chodo Habat had pointed on. Apparently, she would come pretty close to it on her way to the first survey quadrant. 

It would thus be only a minor inconvenience to visit the encampment, although she doubted the necessity of the matter. She might spare herself the task of lugging around her overflowing backpack, but otherwise, there wasn’t much benefit to be yielded. Though she was hesitant to admit it to herself, her inclinations to avoid the facility came from an unmistakably clear source: Chodo Habat’s suspiciously under-mentioned friend was supposedly in that area. Apparently a technician, an engineer of some stripe, Pakra was unsure if or how he might assist her.

That said, Chodo Habat _did_ say he’d let him know she would be coming. If he were waiting for her arrival, her absence could very well be a snub, and those sensitive Ithorians might take it as a personal insult, or god forbid, an insult to the entire herd. Neglecting an invitation might thus be an unwise decision, even if it served no immediate vocational benefits.

Stop by, for a few minutes, say hello, prove that she at least had some modicum of manners in her. Thereafter, once the pleasantries were exchanged and the conversation was ebbing, she could dip out before the discomfort set in, back on-task with this horrifying adventure she was now inescapably impelled to complete. He would be nominally appreciative that she stopped by, however briefly.

She took another deep breath to ready herself, and began towards the marker that Chodo Habat had made. 

***

Thin-stemmed flowers rose from the earth, interspersed in the fields, speckling them in pink and yellow and blue. The plains were sparsely wooded, with only spindly-trunked trees to provide shade to the wildlife. After some half-hour’s walk, she came across a brook at the pit of a valley, its banks encased by small boulders. It did little to impede her, even if her soles and laces were caked in mud afterward. The stream marked the simultaneously unnatural and unartificial boundary line between the encampment’s territory and the remainder of the restoration zone: at the summit of the valley, around a final bend, the research facility came into view.

The site was a collection of mostly single-story, heavy iron bunkers, lacking in any sort of adornment, or even identifying markers, save for numbers on the doors. Being unmarked was inconsequential, however, given that the only people allowed on the surface would have already known about the site. Until recently, that is. In contrast to the lush terrain of the broader restoration zone, the facility had an aura of impersonality and sterility. Unlike the rest of the tended surface, its artificiality was unarguable.

The station was far from a state of disrepair-- owing moreso to its youth than its maintenance-- which, coupled with its ostensible abandonment, gave it an uncanny aura, as if it were simply manifested rather than constructed. The site had more relevance during the early stages of the Restoration Project, when changes were occurring even more rapidly, and the sudden and drastic environmental changes necessitated constant monitoring. It was still used on occasion, though usually by those doing routine field work, and thought it could easily house a couple dozen people, nowadays there were rarely ever more than one or two residents at a time. 

The first collection of small buildings appeared to be storage sheds, containing various technical instruments that she was unable to identify. Another room held innumerable containers of preserved specimens, labeled in a language she couldn’t read, but which looked familiar. She sifted through microscope slides fixed with all manner of strange samples. Another collection of shelves had various bottles of chemicals; again, the hieroglyphics on the labels were incomprehensible to Pakra, who knew only Galactic Basic. She could not even speak Twi’leki very well, let alone read it. 

She was beginning to feel beyond unprepared for all of this. 

That sinking feeling only worsened upon returning to the exterior of this ominous, empty camp. It felt like somebody _should_ be here, and yet, the camp was uninhabited. Conspicuously so. 

Wait, someone actually should be here, right? 

She continued through the research site, entering the building directly across from the storage. It appeared to be a sort of dormitory, probably from when the camp was more populated. She could probably sleep here for the next few days. If there was someone living here, she expected this was where they’d be. The immediate room upon entering was some sort of commons area, equipped with a workbench. A door on the far-back wall led to what looked like a small medical examination room, containing basic first-aid supplies-- no doctor, though. Hallways extended on either side of the commons, and down each were six or so doors, all of which were closed. 

She opened the first door in the right hallway. Sure enough, it was a dormitory bedroom, with only a single-sized bed, a desk, and a chair. No personal effects, no decoration. She thought it safe to assume nobody was living here. 

Opening all the rooms would be overkill. If someone was in one of them, that’d be rather invasive. It might also only add to her tension if she had to open twelve rooms, one by one, only to find each of them vacant. So instead, she exited the first room and simply peered down the disturbingly lifeless hallway. 

“Hello?” 

As expected, she got no response. 

Feeling her chest tighten, she trudged to the opposite hallway. 

“H-.. hello?” she managed to squeak out, but her effort was once again rejected when she was returned nothing but silence. 

Returning outside, the air was no less still. The perennials were sparse here, but the few were dutifully flowering. A sparrow-like bird waited in the tall grasses just beyond, sporting a feathery patch stained cardinal-red with blood-- presumably from a cannok, the only predatory species in the biome. It was trilling gracefully in spite of its injury, but when she stepped off the doorstep, its wings broadened in a grand display before it flew overhead, twittering as it disappeared skyward.

The liveliness of the facilities’ surroundings only made the camp itself all the more menacing. She could feel a predatory glare burning through her, but could detect no signs of life whatsoever. Left overwhelmingly alone by her avian acquaintance, she was frozen in the place it’d fled from, her body encased in paranoia. It was just too corporeal to be her imagination.

“Is..” her lungs struggled to find the strength, impeded by fear. 

_Breathe, Pakra._

She takes a breather, as deep as she could manage. Her eyelids droop slightly, and her heartbeat slows. 

“Is someone out there?” 

A faint echo repeated her question throughout the camp, eventually carried away with the early springtime breeze. 

“I _know_ you’re out there!” she cried out. She didn’t know at all, but thought it would draw out her pursuer. Once again, she received no reply. No voice, no movement. Nothing. 

She clicked her tongue.

_You’re going to give yourself an aneurysm, Pakra.._

She walked straight forward, to larger building some twenty meters afar, standing a little straighter, and walking with strides a bit wider. She felt terribly silly that she’d been so worked up, essentially yelling at herself in this empty campsite. Approaching the reinforced metal door of the next building, she was surprised to find it locked. Pakra was no stranger to lockpicking, but this door looked to require a terminal passcode of some sort. Computers, she was much less familiar with. Still, it was a little odd that it was the only locked door so far, perhaps indicating its importance. She could ask Chodo Habat about it in a few days-- there was little else to do about it now. Time to move on. 

“-- _EEK!”_

Pakra summoned a scream upon turning around, emitting a high-pitched squeal more suited for a small rodent than a young woman. A few mere feet from her was a man at least twenty centimeters taller than herself, the fully-dilated pupils of his gold eyes no doubt the source of that burning gaze she’d felt. Her eyes instantly locked with his, subjecting her to the emotionless stare of an apex predator. She attempted to step back in vain, her heels clicking against the door. No escape. In this moment, she was certain that these were the final minutes of her life: he’d soon be devouring her alive, this paralyzed prey animal, this rat-like girl who dared leave the nest. _Goodbye, Chodo Habat, this was for you! At least flowers may spring forth from my rotting carcass!_

“Whoa! Hey,” his pupils constricted after seeing the abject terror in the girl’s face. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

His carnality dissipated so quickly, Pakra almost believed that it had been hallucination. Hallucinating, in broad daylight, while agonizingly sober. Fat chance. Her eyes darted around his form, and he apparently took notice, taking a step back and raising his empty hands. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” 

Her eyes inspected the gloved hand, then moved rightward to the other: a cybernetic, bigger, and no doubt more powerful, than the already-large natural hand. They were, indeed, both empty. She let herself breathe, only then noticing the pain caused by holding her breath, and the numbness of her wobbly, jelly-like limbs. But she hadn’t let her guard down. This man looked well-built enough to easily overpower her. Hell, it would probably require minimal effort for him to kill her, unarmed.

“Are you… Pakra, perhaps?” 

Still enduring the unrelenting pain in her chest, she failed to find the energy to respond. Instead, her reaction came in the un-knitting of her brow and the faint relaxation of her shoulders. An open book. Made things easier. 

To yield when he had a perfect opportunity to tear her limb-from-limb should have been evidence enough that he meant no harm, and this said nothing of his now-endurable stare or pleasing voice. It now seemed improbable, if not impossible, for deceitfulness to be hiding in those once-soulless yellow eyes.. even if there remained something unnerving in his countenance.

“This isn’t how I typically greet others, for the record. I thought you were.. someone else.” 

How was he to know that the field worker would be this meek Twi’lek girl, when everyone else was an Ithorian? She hadn’t helped the matter, being better outfitted for burglaries than data collection.

“But, now that I’ve gotten a good look at you, it seems I was mistaken.” His eyes scan her over once more. “I guess we’ve all been a little on edge lately, haven’t we?” 

Chodo Habat noted this friend had seen Czerka scouts, and thusly believed Pakra was one. A simple mistake. But she couldn’t shake how peculiar he was. His last statement was practically a whisper, but was spoken with alarming intensity. 

“I.. I guess so..” she spoke her first words to him, tartly, and likewise in only a whisper. “Um… I.. uh.. w-what’s your name, again?” 

“Bao-Dur.” 

Bao-Dur. Yes, she remembered now. That was the name that Chodo Habat had mentioned. So this really was the person she’d been looking for. Much like Chodo Habat, he seemed cordial enough now, and even had a similarly sunny air to him.. for the time being, at least. 

This strange effect he had on her was not the only unexpected aspect of his character. Pakra was under the impression that the technician would be an Ithorian. Why wouldn’t he be? Everyone else working on the Restoration Project was one. But this man was _not_ an Ithorian. This man almost appeared human. 

_Almost._

His form was typical for a human male, save for being perhaps a bit taller than the average human male, and having a sturdier build which suited his military-esque clothing. But his skintone was unusual: an earthy tone, a sort of mushroomy color, brown but more gray-tinted than any human she’d come across. Precisely-drawn, symmetric tattoos ornamented him, their thin black lines ostentatiously painting an otherwise plain face. A diamond-shaped tattoo lay in the center of his forehead, and on either side, two of six of his most unusual characteristic: horns, encircling his skull.

He was a Zabrak _._

She’d never actually met a Zabrak before. She’d seen a few prior, but never talked to one. She was well aware of the rumors that they were uncontrollably bloodthirsty. Their homeworld, Iridonia, was an unforgiving wasteland: almost entirely uninhabitable, except for the most vicious of species. The Zabraks were only sentients spawned in this barren, planetary cemetery. Biologically, they were keen, and exceptionally powerful, ambush predators; culturally, they were fierce, remorseless warriors. 

And she was stuck here, on this empty planet, with this unsettling Iridonian, for the next three days.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rewritten 12/28/20

The first two quadrants were adjacent to one another, splitting an area of almost two square kilometers in halves. It was the first section of almost-flat land she’d encounter on the surface thus far, sloping slightly downward, terminating at a shoreline, with a few short, slim-trunked trees dotting the scenery along the way. Patches of half-melted snow speckled the plains, the final remnants of waning winter. Her map would indicate areas that she’d already gone over, but it would still be tedious to snake back and forth over the plains until she’d covered each square meter. Worst of it, she was just roaming aimlessly until she encountered an animal of some sort. Meaning, there was plenty of opportunity for her wayward thoughts to overtake her.

She brought out the stun gun from her knapsack, which she’d never used before, but she’d used blasters once or twice, and was confident enough in her aim. Small guns like this were a pain in the ass, though. Kicked back too much after you fired them. Always felt like it’d jump out of her hands. She wished there was a stun-rifle instead.

She inserted a magazine of sedatives into the well-- a mild one, too weak to cause permanent injury, but strong enough to incapacitate. She’d never actually seen a cannok in person, and contrary to their bulky, sluggish appearance in photos, she heard they were quick critters.

_Quicker than a stun gun? Hopefully not._

With one more breath, she took her first step into the test quadrant, trying to keep a consistent pace while scanning the ground.

 _A_ _cannok_ _sh_ _ould be obvious from quite a distance.._ _right?_

Either way, she didn’t see much in her first few minutes of surveying, and naturally, her mind began cruising off to the most recent, and mortifying, of developments: Bao-Dur. Her Zabraki pursuant.

Neither of them seemed the most talkative of sorts, and in conjunction with the awfulness of the nerve-wracking circumstances, she encountered astonishingly little resistance for a man who’d cornered her so ineluctably. Perhaps the harassment actually had been an accident. _What did he intend to do,_ she wondered, _if I really was a trespasser?_ Staring at her, with those vacant, golden eyes. The sharpest gaze she’d ever been subject to. The primacy was almost indecent. 

Particularly obscene coming from an Iridonian.. or was ‘Zabrak’ a more accurate term? Well, either way, it was wholly unexpected. Chodo Habat said nothing of his species. He’d probably not even thought to mention it. If she had been forthrightly informed, would it have changed anything?

Pakra’s knowledge-- or lack thereof--regarding both the Zabrak species and the Iridonian culture was on par with most of her contemporaries. Inborn inclinations towards violence. Severely deficient in empathy. Warrior culture, inculcated from birth. Perfectly suited for mercenary work; incidentally, the only profession she’d ever witnessed their having, as a relatively rare species off-world, even in a place as heterogeneous as Nar Shaddaa.

It was difficult, then, for her to reconcile these contradictory impressions: the stereotypes she’d believed up to this point, receiving their confirmation almost overprecisely, only for him to rescind it so inexplicably! What was such she to make of it? Being so fear-oriented would inevitably lead her to believe the worst.

But she had also heard the stereotypes that people had about Twi’leks: that the women were innately salacious and sought domination, both claims which were long used as justification for their enslavement. Others believed that Twi’leks were all criminals. How many times had she been called a whore or a slut, simply for being a Twi’lek woman? Oh, but wasn’t there biological reasons that the Zabrak were that way? Surely there weren’t biological roots for the myth of the masochistic, hypersexual Twi’lek. After all, she was neither of those, and as self-loathing as she might’ve been, her real or perceived abhorrence had nothing to do with being a Twi’lek. It also seemed impossible that she was the singular exception. So, what was the explanation, then? The Twi’lek stereotypes aren’t justified, but the Zabrak ones are? The Twi’lek traits are learned, the Zabrak ones are innate?

The answers to these questions were unanswerable in the current situation, but one thing was certain to her: she was often the victim of presumption, of ignorance, or pure bigoted vitriol. If this was unfair to experience, then it must in turn be unfair to perform. Of course, one’s predilections are not so easily revised as that.

The first of the creatures was finally spotted, about ten meters to her left across the plains. The area it inhabited was untraced--would it be a procedural error to stun one if she hadn’t technically gone into its location? She readied her gun either way. It must have heard the clicking of her removing the gun from its holster, one of its eyestalks glancing behind it, the rest of its body following soon after. 

The beast stepped forward with a few measured, cautious steps, eyes fixed on the young woman. It rapidly accelerated, its nails scarring the earth below, the pads of its feet producing loud thumps with each contact with the ground. Pakra brought the gun upwards without hesitation and pulled the trigger, the sedative bullet entering the soft tissue below its eyestalk. It dug its nails into the dirt upon impact, squealing at the pain as it tried wobbling forward, only to collapse into the prairie grass. 

She was a pretty good shot, she thought, though the spot was a more vulnerable area than she’d intended to hit. Hopefully it wasn’t too painful. Once she was confident that the cannok really was unconscious, she approached it, getting a good, close look at the creature for the first time. 

It was about the size of a small dog, and had vaguely similar morphology, insofar as it was tetrapodal and had a tail. The head resembled more of a spectacularly ugly frog, lacking ears and possessing a large, distended gullet. A crest of fleshy quills extended along its spine and down its stubby tail. Its thin, innumerable teeth on its lower jaw extended out of its mouth and rested on the upper lip-- Pakra shuddered as she imagined suffering a bite from this thing. She thought that the cannoks were reptilian, but in actuality, they appeared to be mammals with heavily calcified skin. 

Truly vile little brutes. 

This one was not tagged. She took one of the coded tags from her knapsack, colored bright red and very visible against the beigey-green of the cannok’s skin, and fastened it around the creature’s left eyestalk. A lack of tags indicated that the individual was not a member of the originally introduced population-- that is, it was part of a filial generation. Pakra found it surprising, given the original population was introduced only a few months prior, since this cannok appeared almost fully grown. 

She noted the cannok’s location on her map and scanned the tag. It was now labeled CNK-051. Lovely name.

 _One down… how many more to go?_

***

By the time she finished the first quadrant, the sun had begun to descend over the horizon. While she could’ve started on the second quadrant, she still needed to travel back, and she didn’t want to do that in the dark. That said, she did take a few minutes on the shoreline where she ended her session. The water was murky by the waterline, but it looked truly stunning when reflecting the amber glow of the setting sun. Gentle waves lapped at the white sand beneath her feet, leaving behind pale foam under the soles of her boots. 

It was incredible, what the Ithorians had managed to create from a desolate planet. 

She walked along the shoreline as she made her way back, simply letting herself enjoy the sound of the water and the shifting of the warm sands under her feet, the spring breeze flowing over her dewy skin. It was a sublime feeling, until she looked out over the plains to see a dozen or so motionless cannoks. Ridiculous creatures.

She had managed to find about thirty of the wretched things in the first quadrant, around two-thirds of which were already tagged. An interesting ratio of tagged to untagged individuals, and although it was too early to start speculating.. the lack of other creatures during her session wasn’t a great sign. If the parental generation had bore too many offspring, it’d undoubtedly upset the already-capricious ecosystem. 

She could stay in the abandoned research facility overnight. It’s not like it was being used for anything, and it would be much better than sleeping outside. 

It was almost dark by the time she made it there. Unlike before, the clicking of some unknown insects could be heard scattered throughout the camp. The area still lacked any movement or sounds indicative of larger lifeforms.. although she had already learned that didn’t necessarily mean there wasn’t anyone there. 

Chodo Habat did mention that Bao-Dur would be around this area.. So naturally, she assumed this was where he made his residence. She prepared herself to see him again, conjuring up some fake friendliness, but he was nowhere to be found by the time she reached the exterior of the empty dormitory. 

With admittedly scant conviction, she called out into the darkness. 

“Bao-Dur?” 

No response. 

Well.. maybe he wasn’t here after all. There were probably other places for him to be working. There was nothing she wished to tell him anyway, no reason why she had to know where he was. 

The inside of the dormitory was just as deserted as before. She settled on taking the one room that she had checked during her first visit, just on the off-chance that she might find something unwanted in one of the other rooms. She dropped her knapsack against the door and kicked her boots off, curled onto the bed, cuddling up in the pillow, deciding she would rest her eyes for just a second before taking off the rest of her things. 

Expectedly, she fell asleep. 

***

When she was a child, she had night terrors. She’d wake up screaming or writhing in terror, causing a raucous that would resound through the entire apartment, much to her mother’s irritation. Sometimes, she would hallucinate after waking up from a nightmare, and other times, her eyes would jolt open, but she’d remain hypnotized by whatever demons had enthralled her. Beginning so early in childhood, the nightmares had started with the same idiocies as any child: monsters under the bed, needles hidden in her food, nails ripped out with pliers, the typical things. The hallucinations and night terrors eventually subsided in her late childhood and into adolescence, but the nightmares never stopped: they just adapted. Anonymous faces and nameless specters were displaced with the ghosts of those she once loved. Pleasant dreams were too much an aberration to bank on. The best she could hope for was for her subconsciousness to be too exhausted to have devised any of the regularly-scheduled torture. Even that was an anomaly, provided she was sober.

That night, she dreamt she was a child again. In her dreams and nightmares she often was. The target was the junkyard: her _de facto_ childhood home. In childhood, it’d always been a place of incomparable liveliness, absent of restrictions or inhibitions, whose outlandish residents she once considered her family. Now, though, in her self-haunted illusion, there was nothing but the spirit of those who had since met an untimely demise, or had left her behind, or had forgotten about her, or who she’d voluntarily pushed away, or otherwise alienated via her own thoughtlessness. In her typical brand of self-subversion, she could no longer recall her treasured adolescent memories sans the overpowering infections of misery and loneliness that ailed her in adulthood.

So she approached her home with weary reluctance, and instead of having to navigate through crowds of people, she had to dodge moths and flies and all manner of loquacious insects swarming and buzzing around her head. At the junkyard, her clique, minus one, was waiting just outside the hideaway: there was Fish-Scale and Backwoods and Raggamuffin. But something was wrong. They had faces, but they were unrecognizable, with these impenetrably stony expressions.

“Where’s Whiskers?” Pakra tearfully implored them. 

They looked at her, but denied her an answer. 

_“_ _Where’s Whiskers?!”_ she yelled this time. 

They turned away with derisive flicks. 

The hideaway was roughly centered in the junkyard, a superannuated, crashed or otherwise disposed starship, surrounded by odorous garbage. It was a metallic gravestone lacking in epitaph, unearthed on a grassless plot of the graveyard planet. The insects were seeping out of the cracks. Pakra lifted the flimsy aluminum sheet that served as a makeshift door to the interior, cautiously crawling inside the searing, oven-like coffin. 

There’s dearest Whiskers.

A wound of unknown origin was below his ribcage, exposing the lowermost bones or some similarly whitish internal structure. Someone had reached inside the slit and pulled the viscera part-way out, a mess of meat staining his clothes red, and rubber-pink lung tissue peeking out from the cavity. The bloodstains had to have been at least a day old, having darkened to maroon, a sort of grisly wine, or even a chocolatey-cherry color-- yes, it was chocolate, surely just the melted confection he had so tremendously enjoyed, now having spilled out in thickly stewlike, macabre brushstrokes, smeared across his body and resting place from his slit-open stomach.

Pakra reached out to him. 

“Urgh..” she squirmed miserably atop her bed, rubbing her face. Neglecting to use the unpleasantly tarpaulin-like sheets, her body remained uncovered, but nonetheless sweating profusely from falling asleep in her clothes. Her jacket and head-harness were the next best thing to a handkerchief, though they were still insufficient for wiping her face clean. This closet of a dormitory was suffocating her. Positively grilling her alive.

With the uncanny air that permeated the long-emptied building, skulking around in the dark seemed counter-intuitive, but she hardly had the luxury to choose elsewhere. 

Just past the door, she could see icy blue light shining from around the corner, accompanied by the occasional, pore-revealing clinking and clanking of metal against metal. 

She peeked over the wall that separated the hallway from the common area. Sure enough, there was the only other person on this planet, at the workbench. Though she thought she’d been sneaky, it was not enough to evade detection. After only a few unshod steps forward, he turned around, looking entirely unsurprised by her presence. 

“Good morning,” Bao-Dur gave her a clear-eyed smile. “Did you sleep well?”

Pakra checked the time on her wrist’s datapad. It was 3:02 AM. 

“Do you usually wake up this early..?” 

“No.” he turned back to whatever it was he was working on. “I haven’t gone to sleep yet.” 

“O-oh… uh, is that normal for you, then?”

“It’s pretty standard, yeah.” 

“T-that.. doesn’t sound very healthy.” 

“Well, it’s probably not,” he was deadpan. 

With her focus exclusively devoted to sounding unafraid, it was impossible to determine how to respond. Though her fear was still present, his behavior was clear enough that she was under no misapprehension that he cared where she went. Why was he here, anyway? Was there truly no workshop in the research facility? Irregardless, he was here, and promenading about the deserted research facility in the dead of night was unlikely to ease her mind, nor was there an abundance of space in this building alone. It would be awkward passing him by.

“Um.. not to impose, but.. can I watch, u-uh.. whatever you’re doing?” 

He paused, and Pakra presumed he was trying to ascertain her intent. Was he distrusting as well? Indeterminate-- his eventual response gave no indication of his verdict. 

“Sure. Don’t know if it’d be very entertaining for you, though.” 

“Y-you don’t have to entertain me,” she laughed with questionable sincerity as she pulled a chair over. “I just need something to.. bring me back to reality, I guess..” 

“I’m not sure how to do that, but I can try.” 

Once granted permission, she watched him work, appearing to deconstruct a small droid of some sort. The Ithorians occasionally used droids of their own, and while far from erudite on engineering or droids or anything really, she could at least recognize that this was not one the Ithorians’ models.

“What is it you’re doing, anyway?” she enunciated slowly and calmly, so as not to give herself up. 

“I found this earlier today.. I assume you didn’t bring it?” 

She shook her head. 

“Didn’t think so,” his voice was silken, even in casual conversation. She had no explanation for his unusual timbre and intonation-- she had never heard anyone speak with the same delicate, muted quality, whilst still managing to be commandingly intense. 

Her eyes moved from the droid to the hands manipulating the mechanisms. The movement of his veins while he worked was captivating. He looked.. pretty strong. And now that she was closer to him, she felt even smaller than before, despite being in a far less threatening situation. Her gaze moved up his arms to his face. Despite his assiduous stare, he did look rather tired. Unsurprising, given it was three in the morning. Why did he have to stay awake? Was this work that urgent? Whatever the motivation, his inexhaustible concentration rested on gutting the unknown droid, so much so that she suspected he was only faintly aware of her presence, existing only in the background as an unseen spectator. 

“So, why did you decide to join the Restoration Project?” 

_Ah.._ Well, not the most accurate observation. She hoped he hadn’t noticed her staring at him. 

“Um.. Honestly, I.. really just wanted to get off Nar Shaddaa..” 

He side-eyed her. “Is that where you’re originally from?” 

“Y-yeah..” 

“Huh. Interesting.” Bao-Dur knew better than to pry into the particulars. Pakra might satisfy him if he pressed, but he did not. Quite the opposite, really. Any further information would be unquestionably relinquished on her own volition, and she did not wish to seem too eager. 

“Um.. where are you from..?” 

He smirked. “Take a wild guess.” 

“A-ah..” there was a tremble in her voice. That was an answer in and of itself. “S-so.. why did you join the Project, then?” 

His smirk faded, and he became indecipherable. A longer pause than normal followed, and Pakra began to suspect she’d asked the wrong question again, albeit for some entirely different reason. She watched him, nervously inspecting his expression for abnormalities.

“I was just hoping to do some good. That’s all.” 

What was the pause for, if not ruminations? He wasn’t lying, but only because it was such a vague answer. It was much too simplified for the despondency the question seemed to cause. Imploring him for a clearer answer was both unwise and undesired. She spared both of them the trouble.

There was this intangible vibe that emanated from him. Pakra did not find him handsome, probably a sentiment shared by most, due to the convex curve of his nose, or the squareness of his face, or the bushy, unmanaged eyebrows. Yet, in some contradictory manner, he was neither unalluring, counterbalancing the usual disinterest she’d feel for most anyone with the same unhandsome features. The source of this inexplicable charm was much harder to pin down. She could make no reasonable attribution, except to the fact that he was a Zabrak. Not the first Zabrak she’d ever seen, but the first she’d examined so closely. It must have been the unfamiliarity of him, the curiously inhuman parts which had felt so ferociously threatening on first glance. An irrational, perhaps problematic fascination, but mystifying enough to cloud her thoroughly undisciplined judgment.

Her focus returned to the hypnotic maneuverings of his hands, periodically glancing at his expression, visually tracing the tattoos on his face, and eventually studying his horns. 

The horns did not extend straight: they were out of plumb, beginning at an outward incline before curving upward, forming an understated crown. While not exactly dull-looking, she doubted they were deadly, if for no reason other than their upward angle.

 _I wonder what they feel like._

She folded her arms on the workbench, nestling her face into them, and fell back to sleep. 


	4. Chapter 4

She hadn’t exactly meant to fall asleep right there, but it did happen nonetheless. Maybe she had warmed up to him a lot quicker than she’d anticipated, or maybe her body was just too exhausted to stay awake any longer. Regardless of the reasoning, her second awakening was just as unpleasant as the first, albeit in a different way. Hunched over the workbench for at least a few hours, her back was now aching from the awkward positioning, and her head throbbed as she lifted it from her folded arms. She tried to release her body’s tension with a prolonged stretch and a couple of deep breaths, but it would take more than that to undo half a night’s worth of bodily contortion. 

Bao-Dur was gone. She fell asleep to the sounds of him deconstructing a droid, so it wasn’t terribly surprising that she wasn’t disturbed when he left. It appeared that he turned off the workbench’s obnoxiously bright light, though the metal walls and floors of the dormitory were now dimly lit, presumably from some automatic, timed lighting setting. Convenient. It looked like most, if not all, of the droid parts were still on the workbench, although she couldn’t know if he left them there so as not to wake her, or if he simply had nowhere else to take them. Where he himself went to was a mystery-- hopefully he was finally getting some rest. Maybe he was in one of these rooms. Best to stay quiet, then. 

She tip-toed to her original sleeping place. She took her time while showering and changing her clothes. She might’ve gotten more dirty just sweating during the night than she had during fieldwork. 

Her datapad indicated it was past nine in the morning. Not ideal, but she’d gotten here later than that yesterday, and still managed to finish with time to spare. 

Stepping out of the dormitory, she was greeted with a cloudless sky and the gentle warmth of the morning sunshine. The wind was a little more active today, and the tall grass swayed along with it, waving her a ‘good morning.’ She was half-tempted to wave back to it, and she probably would’ve, except she didn’t want to risk the off-chance that Bao-Dur was somewhere. She didn’t want him-- or anyone, for that matter-- see her do something so embarrassing. 

..she was fairly certain that he’d be sleeping right now. Even if he went to sleep pretty soon after she first woke up, that was only.. six hours ago? And that’s assuming she fell asleep pretty quickly. She had no idea how long she was actually sitting at the workbench, just watching him. 

Well, even so, she’d feel better just making sure. 

“Bao--- _mmph!_ ” 

Her shout is cut short by a hand sealing her mouth shut. Her attacker wrapped their other arm around her waist and dragged her over to the side of the building as she kicked and writhed in vain. When she failed trying to pull off the hand over her mouth, she instead began scratching and digging with her fingernails with as much power as her fragile body could muster, managing to get out muffled squeaks all the while. 

“ _Shhh--. Hey,_ ” 

The unmistakable voice. 

“ _You just need to be quiet, alright?”_

She didn’t understand, but she stopped nonetheless, moreso out of fear and confusion than actual desire to comply. And sure enough, Bao-Dur let go of her. 

“W-why would you--” 

“ _Pakra.”_

His arm came to her head level, and Pakra was sure she was going to be detained again. Instead, he pointed just around the corner of the dormitory, to the larger, inaccessible building on the other side of the facility. Emerging from behind it were two humans, one man and one woman. They wore utility suits of some kind, decorated with orange trim and branded with a distinctive logo. She could hear their voices, but they were too far away for her to make out the words. 

She turned to Bao-Dur. _“Why are they coming here?”_

 _“They probably heard you scream my name.”_ His expression was neutral, but the tinge of annoyance was crystal-clear in his whisper. 

_“D-don’t say something like that..”_

The two peered over the corner of the building in silence, trying to pick up bits of their words. The man’s eyes scanned the facility several times, suspiciously inspecting every building as his companion messed with her datapad. 

He stopped, displeased with his results. “..could’ve sworn I heard someone..” 

She didn’t look up. “It was probably one of those fucking cannoks.. Yappy little things.” 

“..I guess.” 

“Even if one of them were here, they’re Ithorians. Most of them can’t even physically speak Basic.” 

“I suppose you’re right.. Guess we oughta find Kinma. He never mentioned that lock..” 

“Yeah. Figures.” 

The man did a final visual examination of the camp before following his partner. The two trespassers walked towards the exit of the facility’s campsite. Bao-Dur and Pakra watched them until they’d completely disappeared, merging into the distant scenery. 

“Are those the Czerka scouts you’d spotted before..?” 

“Yeah. They first showed up about a week ago. I think they were surveying the facility..” 

“Do you know why..?” 

“From what Chodo Habat has said, they’ve taken a peculiar interest in the project since coming to Citadel Station. It wouldn’t surprise me if they were planning on appropriating the research facility, especially given its sparse usage for the time being.” 

“Chodo Habat said they’d been interfering, but... why would a weapons manufacturer want to work on ecological restoration..?” 

“Well, they’re probably not doing it out of the kindness of their hearts.” Bao-Dur sighs, exasperation tinting his appearance. “Telos used to be a base of Republic military operations. Some of the underground compounds probably survived the bombing.” 

Even if the words themselves were fairly benign, Pakra could sense some barely-contained emotion underpinning them. His annoyance was obvious, but it didn’t feel like something so simple. It tasted much too bitter for that.

Once again, she didn’t know what to say. So she said nothing, even with every empty second weighing down on her chest. She was still a little on edge from being accosted first thing in the morning, in addition to all of the previous consternation that he’d caused her. 

“Sorry if I hurt you, by the way,” the venom in Bao-Dur’s voice had subsided. “I was so intent on not getting caught, I might have manhandled you a bit..” 

“Oh! U-um, no, I wasn’t hurt, just.. freaked me out, ha-ha..” her nervous laughter did very little to resolve her own tension, perhaps made worse by being unable to read Bao-Dur’s reaction. 

“I seem to be making a habit of doing that.” 

“Scary times, I suppose.. ha..” 

Again, she could think of nothing else to fill the silence. She wondered how he viewed her during lulls in conversations, fearful of his negative evaluation. Part of her was afraid to even look in his direction, still paranoid that he might be keeping constant watch on her in his periphery, but she could not help herself. She had to dispel this uncertainty. 

And so, her gaze winded upwards from the grass and winded up his form and to his face. He was already looking at her, confirming her fear that she was currently being evaluated. But what was worse was that his expression was unreadable: almost completely neutral save for a vague smile, lacking in obvious signs of judgement, either positive or negative, as if simply looking at her in awareness of her presence rather than considering her the object of social relation. This should have been comforting for her: it probably would have been, had this been anyone else. But she was already the skittish type, even with the most passive of individuals. Despite her desire to see him otherwise, she was afraid of him, and it would take constant effort on her part to feel otherwise. Not being able to read him made her all the more uncomfortable.

While she thought that, Bao-Dur smiled a bit wider, eyebrows raised. It could have been that her gaze had lingered just a little too long. But it also felt like a profoundly knowing expression, as if to say, _So, do I scare you, Pakra?_

“I-I.. ah.. um.. I-it looks like I might’ve.. done a bit of a n-number on you, actually..” 

“Hm? Oh,” his hand, which had been subject to Pakra’s incessant scratching during her arrest, now had a collection of fresh scores dripping blood down his fingers. “You do have some nails on you. Probably scratched me up worse than the cannoks ever have.” 

“S-sorry!” 

“I’m only teasing you.. This is nothing, really.” he wiped the blood off onto his clothes. “I’ve had much worse, as I’m sure you can imagine.” Another unsettling smile. 

Pakra’s eyes naturally drifted over to his cybernetic arm. 

“Y-yeah, I’m sure..” she did wonder how that happened. But even if he alluded to it just now, it felt much too invasive, and potentially inappropriate, to ask him. 

“Speaking of cannoks.. how has that been coming along?” 

“W-well.. I don’t know for sure yet, but.. it seems like they’re reproducing a little too fast..” 

“I’ve gotten a similar impression from being here.. they breed like rats..” 

“Like rats..” 

“But I should let you get back to that. Don’t let me keep you.” 

Pakra was all too eager to leave. She felt like she was getting to know Bao-Dur a little better, though she wasn’t sure if she actually felt any more comfortable in his presence. Not that it mattered very much-- tomorrow would be her last full day on the surface, and then it was back to Citadel Station. Who knows if she’ll ever see him again..? 

… 

Although.. that thought did make her a little sad to consider. Even if she wasn’t quite sure what to think of him, he was one of the few people she’d actually talked to since leaving Nar Shaddaa, save for her Ithorian comrades. 

She mentally scolded herself for getting sentimental over a man she meant yesterday, and who made her fear for her life _twice_ within less than twenty-four hours. Anyway, right now she had bigger things to worry about. She had to get this second quadrant covered, and if it was anything like the first one, the Telosian Council might not like the results.

***

Pakra was worried she might come across the Czerka scouts on her way to the field. Luckily, she managed to reach her research site and complete the day’s work without outside interference. Sadly, that was where the good news ended. Today’s results found an even greater proportion of filial cannoks, almost at a 1:1 ratio. And again, very few of any other animal lifeforms.. If nothing else, it at least appeared that the plant life throughout the test quadrants were thriving. The cannoks were nominally omnivorous, but it seemed they had a strong preference for prey creatures. 

Returning to the research facility, she didn’t see Bao-Dur anywhere outside, and had firmly decided against calling for him, lest she be ambushed again. He also wasn’t in the commons of the dormitory, although he’d apparently come through at some point, evident by the missing droid parts on the workbench. Pakra didn’t bother searching the place for him-- she didn’t have any particular reason why she needed to see him again, anyway. 

Tomorrow would be the final surveying session, in an area she’d not yet seen. She thought it would be prudent to be adequately rested for the final excursion, especially since she did not know what terrain to expect. Her datapad gave little topographic information. Settling into her temporary bed, she considered trying to contact Chodo Habat to give an update, but ultimately did not. He probably would’ve already tried contacting her if he needed to know right away. 

Closing her eyes, her mind drifted off, hoping to dream of absolutely anything other than cannoks. 

***

She was in her childhood home. The apartment had always been dark and dingy, and this aesthetic was only intensified at night. A person from nearly any other planet would probably think this place was deserted, if not for the young Twi’lek currently inside. They had done all they could to make the place look like an actual, habited home, but there was only so much that could be done on a single, low-wage income. Most of the furniture was heavily used, signs of wear apparent from the rips and tears in its fabrics, and the unknown stains that dotted their surfaces. A single plant sat next to Pakra, its leaves crinkled and dry-- much like the apartment’s other inhabitants, barely surviving. 

When Whiskers and Backwoods were both busy, Pakra decided to come home. The others were okay, but she wasn’t nearly as close to them, and it was generally good to return home at least a few times a week, if for no other reason than to communicate to her mother that she was still alive. 

There wasn’t much to do here on her own, so she just watched the news. She didn’t understand all of the words, even when it was in Galactic Basic. Even some of the words she recognized were lost on a conceptual level, things like ‘politics’ or ‘economics.’ She heard about wars, and planets she knew she’d never visit. Pictures of entire planets reduced to ash and ruins, people mutilated irreparably. She didn’t know why those things were happening, but there was always a reason. People died sometimes, and that was just the way things were. At least Nar Shaddaa was enough of a hellhole that nobody would bother fighting over it. 

The blue glow of the holoscreen was the only light on Pakra and the room, until she heard the door click open. Turning to it, she saw the silhouette of her mother in the doorway, the light of the apartment complex shining behind her. She took shaky steps towards her, footsteps barely audible over the newscaster babbling about Nal Hutta in Twi’leki. When she stepped into the light of the holoscreen, Pakra could finally see her mother’s face. A few thin trails of blood trickled out of her eyes and mouth, dripping onto her collar. The bodice of her work uniform was smeared red, although Pakra could not tell if it was her’s or someone else’s. 

Her mother smiled at her. 

“Hey, hon.” 

Waking up this time was not any more pleasant than the previous night. She brought her fingertips to her face, cool liquid dripping down her hot face. It’s just sweat. 

She can hear the familiar clicking outside the door of her dormitory room. Sure enough, as she opened the door, she could see the faint light of the workbench around the corner. She approached as carefully as she could this time, and Bao-Dur did not turn to her. 

“When do you even sleep?” 

He showed no signs of surprise, either because he’d already detected her presence, or because he just wasn’t phased by being snuck up on. 

“When I can.” 

“Are you always this evasive..?” 

“At every opportunity,” this time he smiled at her. “Anyway, what about you? Is scheduling late-night strolls a Nar Shaddaa thing?” 

“I have nightmares..” 

He paused, and Pakra was afraid he might inquire about it. Then _she_ would be teased for her evasiveness. But he didn’t ask. 

“Well, you’re welcome to sleep on my workbench again.” 

“Aha..” she giggled, a bit embarrassed, but accepted the invitation to sit with him again. “It wasn’t super comfy, so.. I might pass on it tonight..” 

“Good. I don’t want to listen to you snoring.” 

“I don’t snore!” 

“You sure?” 

“ _Beep-zzt!_ ” Pakra hadn’t even noticed the small, circular droid on the opposite end of the workbench. 

“I’m only teasing her.” 

“W-who’s this..?” 

“My remote. I guess you wouldn’t have seen him yesterday-- he was trying to determine if there were scouts in other areas of the restoration zone.” 

“Is he a converted Czerka droid..?” 

“No, I’ve had him since I was a kid.” 

That must mean Bao-Dur’s interest in droids is pretty long-standing, huh? Pakra didn’t know if she’d had any interests since childhood.. except maybe hoarding things. 

“Well, hello, sir!” she smiled at the little robot. 

“ _Beep-beep!_ ” 

“He’s adorable!” 

“Aw, you’re gonna make him blush.” 

“ _Bzzzt!_ ” 

She had no idea what the little droid's noises meant, but she thought it was cute, nonetheless. She looked back to Bao-Dur, absorbed in his work. “Um.. you never did explain this one..” her gaze dropped to the remnants of yesterday’s droid. It no longer resembled an intelligible form, but rather, clearly separated, individual parts. 

“It looked to be doing surveillance of some sort. I was hoping to access its internal files, but it’s encrypted.. I wouldn’t suppose you know anything about cryptography?” 

She shook her head. She did not know that word. 

“Nevermind, then. That’s alright.” 

She felt a little bad for being unable to help. It seemed like she’d been more trouble for him than anything. 

“What do you plan to do about the Czerka scouts?” 

“I’m not sure what I can do at this moment.. They’re probably illegitimately trespassing, but I’m not sure that warrants execution at this point.” 

“I-I wasn’t suggesting you kill them!” 

“What were you suggesting?”

“A-ah.." It was a legitimate question, but she had no answers to it. "I don’t know..” 

They both thought about it for a few moments. 

“I’ll keep an eye on them for as long as I can, though it’s frustrating to just wait for them to go on the offensive.” He sighed. “Best case is that it doesn’t even get to that point.” 

She nodded, but she wasn’t feeling particularly hopeful. 

Much like last night, the conversation reached its end, and the two sat together in silence as he worked. She found herself inspecting his strange appearance again, this time starting with his horns before moving to his facial tattoos. The symmetrical lines were thin, but appeared slightly depressed, as if more akin to a engraving than a typical tattoo. Maybe the Iridonians had a particular method of.. carving their tattoos into the skin. Just the thought made Pakra reflexively touch her face in self-defense. 

She was snapped out of her thoughts when he looked up, not turning to her, and sighed again. 

“You do know I can see you staring at me, right?” 

Pakra felt her lungs constrict, at a total loss for words. 

“I thought you’d gotten your fill last night.. Now it’s just excessive.” 

She was a little afraid before that he’d notice her staring at him, but even if that was the case, she didn’t think he’d _confront_ her about it. 

“I-I..” her heart was racing as she tried to find the right words. “I just.. u-um.. don’t see Iridonians.. Zabraks.. v-very often.” 

“I understand I might look a bit.. bizarre to you, but it is a little uncomfortable to be treated as a spectacle.” 

“A-ah..” he was right. She suddenly felt very gross. “I’m sorry, Bao-Dur.” 

He finally turned to her. “I’d rather you be upfront, instead of leering at me.” 

“R-right. I, um..” doing that was more uncomfortable for her-- otherwise she would’ve done it instead of ogling him in the first place. It was even harder with him looking directly at her. But it was obvious what she’d been doing, and it would probably only be _more_ disrespectful to not say anything now. “I was just.. your tattoos.. look like.. carvings. I wasn’t sure if.. it was a technique.. specific to Iridonians..” 

“Sort of. Zabraks don’t scar in the same way as humans.. or Twi’leks, I assume. So instead of raising the skin, scarification leaves an indentation. You carve the design out first, then add the ink.” 

“T-that sounds.. really painful.” 

“It is.” 

“What do they mean..?” 

“It’s a coming-of-age ritual. They tell each person’s story.” 

“I see..” she felt herself staring again, though she wasn’t sure if it was okay now that they were actually talking about it. “They do look.. very.. interesting.” she didn’t know how else to describe them. ‘Cool’ sounded underwhelmingly casual, ‘fascinating’ felt objectifying, and ‘beautiful’ was too romantic. She was unsatisfied with her final appraisal, but it was the best she could do in the circumstances. 

“Thanks. You can touch them, if you want.” 

Her lungs tightened again. “Wha.. n.. N-no, no!” 

Bao-Dur could barely contain his laughter, and his face could not hide his amusement. Pakra’s face started burning as she realized it was exactly the reaction he’d been expecting. 

“Sorry,” he said, half-heartedly. “But you deserved that.” 

“A-ah.. yeah, maybe..” she moved to leave, flustered as her heart thumped against her ribcage. “I, um.. think I’ll go back to bed.” 

“A little too much excitement for you?” 

Her face only got hotter as he continued to tease her. “...good night.” 

She practically sprinted back to her room. She didn’t end up falling back to sleep. 


	5. Chapter 5

Bao-Dur was long gone by the time Pakra decided getting back to sleep was a lost cause. He didn’t really want to deal with her. Somehow, despite being very obviously withdrawn, she managed to be a bit much-- at least for the time being. 

The shoreline of the restoration zone was one of his most frequented spots, but he hadn’t been able to spend much time there as of late with this girl surveying the area. The Czerka scouts obviously weren’t helping things, either. For now, with neither party occupying the area, he only looked over the horizon at the rising sun, trying to get his thoughts in order. 

It was true that he’d begun working on the Restoration Project as a means of making up for what he’d done during the war. In actuality, he doubted he would ever be able to come close to fully undoing the massive damage he’d caused, but maybe this was more about distracting himself from that fact rather than accepting it. But even if distraction was the goal, it wasn’t working particularly well. Although he specifically wanted to help planets which had been ravaged by the war, being on Telos also meant that he could never escape the memories that plagued him. He could neither forget what he’d done, nor accept it. 

Before it was destroyed, Telos IV had military bases which continued to be relevant even now. A far greater proportion of its population, however, were farmers. The majority of people on this agrarian planet probably had little stake in the war, and most were not involved in it, except for perhaps a few volunteers. The land that he now walked on was once the home of people who were gone forever-- killed not even as a primary target, but rather, as ‘necessary’ extraneous casualties. Somebody probably lived very near to where he stood now, in this flat expanse of land among the rocky topography that covered most of the surface. They probably watched the sunrise some mornings, too. 

It must’ve been a different experience then. Maybe the sky was a little clearer, a little brighter. Maybe the water was not so murky, or the sands were whiter, or the grasses greener. This planet would likely always bear some scars. In some sense, this was not even Telos anymore, except in a strictly technical sense. They could never restore it to what it once was, even with the most skilled of ecologists. The endemic species would never return, and nor would the people who defined the planet’s character. They were lost forever. To look at it from an optimistic point of view, this meant that ‘Telos’ could have a completely new start: it was not the reanimated husk of a dead planet, but rather, the start of an entirely new one. That is to say, the new Telos was only beginning to be what it is. But he found it difficult to see it that way. 

And he was afraid that this planet would not be given the chance to realize what it could’ve been. 

***

The surveying of the final quadrant was not going particularly well. She was already exhausted from not being able to sleep, and sure enough, the terrain here was not nearly as easy to traverse as the previous two. She had certainly taken those flat plains for granted. Now, the hills and copious rock structures made it difficult to see cannoks from a distance, leading to several of the beasts sneaking up on her, nipping at her clothes and ankles. The long, needle-like teeth of the creatures could have easily sliced through her flesh if she had not worn leg-guards. 

There was also the issue of taking one of them back. The sedative was supposed to lose effectiveness after about six hours. Could she just give a double dose of the sedative, and then it’d last twelve hours? Is that how that works..?

Well, she supposed she’d find out. Worst case, it dies. At least she’d still have a specimen, technically. 

The day ended later than the previous two, despite starting notably earlier. For simplicity’s sake, the cannok tagged and scanned last would be the experimental specimen. She reloaded the stun gun with a fresh canister of sedative and administered another full dose to the already-unconscious monster. It almost felt abusive, shooting at a creature that was already clearly not a threat. She hoped it wouldn’t cause an overdose, but she couldn’t be too sure. 

She scooped up the little creature. In terms of area, it was not so different from a small, domestic pet, but it was deceptively heavy. Hauling it back was so arduous that she considered giving up on it, but she could not shake the idea that the excess sedatives might kill the poor things, and then it would have died in vain. It did slow her down, and in spite of her efforts, it was well-past sundown by the time she managed to return to the facility. 

She elbowed the release switch on the dormitory entrance. It was apparently late enough that Bao-Dur was already there, and he immediately took note of the creature she was cradling. A few trails of sweat running down her pained face, she clearly wasn’t used to hauling around such heavy cargo. Indeed, the little beast looked exponentially larger in Pakra’s spindly arms. 

“Is that dead?”

“Um.. I don’t think so..” 

“You could’ve asked me to bring it back for you.” 

The thought had occurred to her, but she didn’t even know where he’d be. He never seemed to be around except in the dead of night, unless he was stalking (presumed) trespassers. 

“W-well.. you could still help me,” she set the animal down on the workbench, a wave of simultaneous ache and relief running through her arms. “I need some type of.. carrier, or something, to take this back to the Station.” 

“There might be something in storage..” his gaze drifted to the zonked-out cannok on his workbench. “We can go check now, if you’d like.” 

She nodded, and followed him outside. 

It would probably be close to midnight soon. The chirps of tiny insects filled the empty air as they approached the storage room, Bao-Dur’s remote providing just enough light to find their way there. Inside, it looked more or less the same as when Pakra had first inspected it a few days ago, although the overflowing clutter would’ve made it difficult to notice if anything was missing. After spending a few days on the surface, she became more convinced that most of the intact specimens in this room were only marginally related to the planet, if at all. It was most likely just the proverbial junk drawer of the facility. 

Pakra scanned the shelves of specimens and bottles once again, looking for something that might work as an animal carrier. She would prefer something made specifically for that purpose, but she wasn’t seeing anything that fit the description. 

“There are more sedatives in here, if you need them.” He held a small bottle of vivid orange fluid up to her. It might be useful, should she not find anything to transport the thing. Either way, it couldn’t hurt to take it. 

“Sure.. thank you.” she inspected the label of the bottle, covered in tiny, unintelligible scribbles. The writing looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place what language it was. Nothing on it was written in Basic-- not even the chemical name. 

“You can read this?” 

“Yeah. It’s Ithorese.” 

Obviously, it would make sense that the Ithorian-led facility would use the Ithorian language. It was interesting that Bao-Dur could read it, though. Had he learned it specifically to work on the Restoration Project? She felt a little bad that she hadn’t even attempted to do so.. instead, all of the Ithorians were made to accommodate her. She figured that most of them knew Basic to begin with, living on Citadel Station where it was the standard language, but they probably did prefer their native tongue. 

She did a final scan of the room. “I.. don’t see much in here.” 

“We can check the main research building, then.” 

“Huh? It was definitely locked when I checked it..” 

“Yeah. I put additional security on it when I first noticed the Czerka scouts. It’s partly why I thought you were one of them, since you were trying to find a way inside.. Besides, you look a bit like a slicer.” 

“Huh..? W-wait, what do you mean..?” 

He just smiled as they left. 

After he unlocked the entrance, Pakra saw the inside of the research facility for the first time. Unlike the other buildings, which seemed to have lighting automatically controlled by time and occupancy, this building’s lighting was almost insufferably bright, despite it being almost midnight. Pakra averted her eyes when the door first opened as a twinge of pain shot through her head. 

“Sorry. Guess I should’ve warned you.” 

Somehow, she was expecting the inside to look like the plant nursery in the Ithorian compound back at Citadel Station, but obviously, nobody was here to tend to any organisms, so it was noticeably barren. Still, there were signs that it was once used for similar purposes, indicated by vacant hydroponic contraptions. The far side of the building was lined with large, cylindrical tubes of blue liquid, almost resembling kolto tanks. Perhaps that’s what they were-- they could’ve also been incubators of some sort. They were all empty, but presumably functional, as tiny bubbles floated from the base to the surface in regular intervals. 

Heavy machinery and lab benches occupied much of the room’s area. She could not even begin to guess what most of the equipment was for, nor did she want to fiddle with it. Some charts and lists were placed on or nearby the machines, but they were useless to her, as they were written in Ithorese. Maybe some day she’d learn how to operate some of it, but today was not that day. 

She made her way to the tanks. They were large enough to contain an adult human, or maybe even two, so she assumed this was where animal specimens might’ve been held. Sifting through the cabinets of the nearby lab benches, she found similar sights to the storage room: an abundance of unknown chemicals, strange instruments, and microscope slides of unknown samples. Under a sink, she managed to find a large, metal crate with a hinged lid. She couldn’t tell if it was meant for transporting animals: the walls were mostly solid, save for a few slats on the lid which could potentially function as air holes. Regardless of its intended purpose, it would have to do. A shame it was a little heavy for her, even without the cannok. 

“I can at least carry that back.” 

Bao-Dur took the crate from her. Under normal circumstances, she probably would’ve objected out of some misguided politeness, but her muscles were still weak from carrying her cannok back to camp. She silently let him take it without any fuss. 

Back at the dormitory, the cannok had begun to show some small signs of life as its overly-sedated body twitched. At least it wasn’t dead, although it didn’t appear particularly well. Not that the cannoks ever looked particularly well. She considered administering more sedatives, but thought that might be going overboard, and so she packed up the creature in its crate and stowed it away in her room. Hopefully it wouldn’t wake up in the middle of the night. 

“Thank you for helping me,” she thanked Bao-Dur as he returned to his work. 

“Yeah, of course.” 

She felt like she wanted to talk with him more, but she didn’t have anything in particular to say, and neither did he. She just watched him from around the corner for a few moments as he worked. 

“I, uh.. guess I’ll get some sleep.. I should be leaving in the morning.” 

“Alright. I’ll try to keep it down.” 

Was that all there was to say, then? She figured that was both of their parting remarks, and so she could (and maybe should) just return to her room. Maybe in these short couple of days, she’d just become a little bit accustomed to spending a little time with him at night. It had a particular effect on her, given that she hadn’t socialized very much since coming to Citadel Station. There were the Ithorians, sure, but their relationship was more professional-- she didn’t talk very much with them on a personal level. 

And, watching him now, she could not help but feel sympathetic for his insomnia. She still had no idea when or how much he slept, but it was apparently not easy for him, and the underlying reason seemed a sensitive subject. She wanted to help him somehow, or at least express her sympathy. 

“Bao-Dur?” 

“Yes?” he didn’t sound annoyed or zoned out, but he did keep his concentration on his work. 

“Do you.. Do you want to sleep with me tonight?” 

He immediately stopped and turned to her. For the first time, looking not just surprised, but almost shocked. 

“ _What?_ ” 

“I-I.. just thought that, um.. s-since we both have, uh, sleeping problems.. it’d help to.. be with another p-person, ha.. it always helped me..” 

“I..” Bao-Dur looked no less shocked, confusion and some odd mix of emotions cycling through his expression as he searched for the correct response. “I.. I don’t..” 

It was only upon watching him did she realize how her question was received. Her own face lit up with horror. 

“Sharing a bed! I-I just meant sharing a bed!” she stammered, desperately trying to save this unsavable situation. 

After a brief moment, Bao-Dur giggled a nervous laugh of relief as he turned back to his bench. “You’re too much, Pakra..” 

She just stood there, completely at a loss for what to do or say. 

“No, I don’t think it’d help.." he turned halfway, just to confirm she was still standing there. "..And I don’t think it’s a good idea.” he added, in a half-whisper. “Good night.” 

“A-ah.. g..good night.” 

She returned to her room, closing the door behind her, and almost slumped to the floor. Her heart was still thumping against her chest. 

“Ugh..” she was almost in disbelief that she somehow managed to accidentally ask him to have sex with her. She didn’t know if she’d see him again after returning to Citadel Station, but she now very much hoped she wouldn’t. She thought that even if it hadn’t been misinterpreted as sexual, it was still a pretty inappropriate question to ask, given that he was basically a colleague, and she’d only met him a couple of days ago. She had just wanted so badly to help with his insomnia that she didn’t think it through. 

She crawled into her bed, hiding her face under the covers and in her pillow. Now she probably wouldn’t be able to sleep, either. 

..at least she had those sedatives. 


	6. Chapter 6

The sedatives made her feel groggy and sluggish, but at the very least, she was glad she didn’t have any nightmares. She was out cold the whole night. 

If nothing else, at least Bao-Dur wasn’t so creeped out by her last night that he disappeared in the morning. It was actually the first time she’d seen him in the dormitory when she woke up. Sure enough, he had the same mostly-neutral, vague smile, and mentioned nothing of their awkward exchange the night before. She decided it was best to not mention it and move on. Not that there was much to move on to, as she was leaving almost right away. 

“Are you sure you can haul that back?” 

She gripped the crate with the unconscious cannok inside, both tiny hands wrapped around the handle, struggling to keep it up. 

“I got it..” in reality, it would’ve been a great benefit, given her fatigue, in addition to the soreness in her biceps from carrying the creature the other day. But she didn’t want to inconvenience him. 

“Whatever you say.” 

She did set it down for a moment when bidding him goodbye. 

“Well, um.. I guess I don’t know if I’ll see you again..” she was already feeling a little sentimental, in spite of her discomfort. “But it was nice to meet you, even so..” 

He shook his head. 

“I have a feeling we’ll see each other again.” 

“I..” _hope so?_ She almost said it, despite hoping last night for the exact opposite. “..Goodbye, Bao-Dur.” 

“Yeah. See you later, Pakra.” 

With that, she bowed her head, picked up her cannok, and headed for the landing site. 

***

The trip back to Citadel Station was largely uneventful, although upon returning to the Ithorian compound, she found it even more tense than when she’d left. Almost immediately, Chodo Habat requested to see her results, scanning the areas she’d sampled on her datapad. He didn’t seem displeased with her, although the data seemed to cause some despondency. He explained that they needed to prepare a report on the results for Telosian Council, who had been hounding them while she was gone. 

She’d barely even read a scientific report, let alone written one. Moza was Chodo Habat’s representative, and the person at the compound most familiar with dealing with the Telosian bureaucracy. He was to help her prepare the report, and much to her horror, she was to accompany him to speak with the Council’s representative. 

Distribution of the cannoks was more or less even across the test quadrants, with a slight preference for shaded areas. This was not an issue. The concern was that within three months of initial transplantation, the cannok population almost doubled, increasing from fifty individuals to ninety-three individuals. Dissection of the acquired specimen found its stomach contents to be almost entirely composed of herbivorous species. Apparently, despite being nominally omnivorous, they had a strong preference for animal prey, and seemed to only eat plant life during times of scarcity. Thus explaining the relative absence of herbivores during Pakra’s expedition. The cannok transplantation was not necessarily a failure: it would just require some additional maintenance to bring balance back to the budding ecosystem. 

The problem was that it would appear to be a failure to the Telosian Council, or at the very least, would be viewed as stunted progress. Right now, exemplary results were needed to convince them that the Ithorian-led Restoration Project was worth the resources that the Republic devoted to it. The fact that there was a partially-restored ecosystem after only a few years was an extremely impressive feat from the ecologists’ standpoint, but the council was not composed of ecologists, and they did not understand the time and delicacy that this project would require. 

“Can we do anything about it?” Pakra felt guilty that she hadn’t gotten better results, even though it was not her fault. 

“A next step may be to introduce larger predators.. perhaps another species from Dxun.” Moza said. “There are a number of species which predate on the cannoks.”

“Nighthunters, maybe..?” 

“The maalraas do prey on the cannoks, but it’d be tricky to introduce an animal that hunts in packs right now..” 

“Boma?”

“That might be a better choice. I believe they’d be more suited for the sparse foliage of Telos than the maalraas, too..” he agreed, but he sounded oddly detached-- as if this discussion was only theoretical. 

“..What’s wrong, Moza?” 

“I do not know if the council will accept any solution as sufficient.” 

“There has to be something..” Pakra did not have the same experience with the council, or with the current situation, as Moza. “They can’t just shut down the project after this much has been done, right..?” 

“They won’t shut it down, but they can divert their resources to other parties.” 

Czerka couldn’t have had good intentions with getting involved in the project, but they could make a good case for why they should be involved. The Republic, and the Telosian Council, were concerned about resources and funding, and would cut out extraneous costs wherever possible. If Czerka Corporation could convince them that they could complete the project in an economically efficient manner-- which would likely be the case, given their massive success and presence across the galaxy-- then the Council would jump at the opportunity. 

“Um.. Moza?” 

The Ithorian’s eyes were bright and dewy. He looked to the Twi’lek, her voice even more muted than normal. 

“The cannok problem can be fixed, right?” 

“Yes, of course. It may just take some time and planning.” 

“Then..” Pakra felt a little choked up, nervous about Moza’s reaction. “Can’t we just alter the data? It’d work better for everyone.” 

“No. We cannot do that.” Moza did not seem angry, but he was firm in his words. “I understand the temptation, but such tactics always cause problems in the long run.” 

Pakra shrunk back, now a little ashamed. She and Moza continued preparing the report, an unspoken, sinking feeling consuming both of them. 

***

It would only take a few days for the meeting with the Council’s representative to be arranged. Moza and Pakra waited in one of the spare rooms of the Ithorian compound, not dissimilarly decorated from the rest of the compound, but a little stuffy from disuse. Pakra’s anxiety heightened with every passing moment, completely unsure of what to expect, and feeling as if the fate of the planet rested on her performance. She could feel her already-weakened lungs become even heavier from the pressure. 

The sound of the door sliding open made Pakra’s heart skip a beat. A human woman walked inside with a composed but sultry swing of her hips. 

“Sorry I’m late,” her smile felt slightly restrained, and she had neither the forced amiability nor the surgical coldness that seemed commonplace for bureaucrats. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.” 

“Not at all,” Moza lied. 

“So,” she swung her hair back as she sat across from the two aliens. “I understand you have an update about the.. What were they called? Canoodles?” 

“Cannoks.” 

“Yes! Those boys.” 

“Right,” Moza took the lead, handing a copy of their prepared report to the young woman. “The cannok population has increased far quicker than expected, nearly doubling since introduction. They were originally transplanted to control the herbivore population, which they have been too successful in doing. It appears from a sample’s stomach contents that they’ve been over-hunting the other animal species. We plan to rectify the species imbalance by importing larger predators from Dxun-- potentially the Boma.” 

The young woman skimmed through the report. Most of the heavy reading would have to be done outside this room. Even then, slogging through the scientific jargon might not have even been possible for a layperson. Pakra barely understood some of the words she had used. The woman flipped through the pages before meeting Moza’s gaze. 

“That doesn’t sound good.” 

“It’s.. suboptimal,” Moza tentatively agreed, “but it’s entirely correctable.” 

“I know you can fix it,” she said, closing the report. “But it doesn’t _sound_ good. You’re not even really selling it to me..” she leaned back in her chair, crossing her shapely legs as she pondered. “You know I’m the most sympathetic to your cause. How am I gonna make the case to the rest of the Council..?” 

Both Moza and Pakra had been afraid of this reaction. They tensed, hearing the disdain in the woman’s voice. 

“Did you do the study, Moza?” 

Moza’s eyes shifted between the representative and Pakra. “Both of us compiled the report, but Pakra was the one who collected the data.” 

“Huh?” the woman turned to the girlish-looking Twi’lek sitting next to Moza. “Oh.. somehow I thought this was your secretary..” 

“Pakra used to be our receptionist.. she’s since been trained to do field work. She was on the surface less than a week ago.” 

Pakra bowed her head before making hesitant eye contact. 

“So. You were the one working with those critters?” 

“Y-yes, that’s correct.” 

“What’d you take away from it? Summarize it for me.” 

“W-well..” Pakra took another deep breath, trying to piece it all together. “I think.. the vast majority of the surface is thriving.. plant life is doing extraordinarily well there. The animal species will need tending to, and, um, as Moza said, it’s entirely fixable.. Although.. the cannoks are more like pests than predators, ha-ha.. I think that.. we will need to get council approval as soon as possible, so that it can be controlled..” 

“Pests, huh..?” she mulls over it. “Well, I’ll do what I can with the rest of the council.. But I’m no miracle worker.” 

  
  


***

The stress of waiting for the Council’s verdict on the matter was nearly intolerable. Elsewhere on the Station, Czerka had set up a full office, and had already hired armed guards for their facility. Pakra wasn’t sure that was necessary-- Citadel Station was not exactly known for being dangerous. It almost felt like they were flaunting their wealth and importance to the rest of the Station’s occupants. Although Pakra’s interpretation might have been biased by her occupation. 

The weeks following the meeting with the Council representative, Pakra spent most of her time doing miscellaneous tasks around the compound in between working in the plant nursery. The Ithorians believed that teaching was best done with a practical and hands-on approach, putting more stress on experience rather than studying. Pakra suggested several times that it may be good to return to the planet’s surface, both for additional field experience, and to update the progression of the cannok situation. But Chodo Habat said they should wait until they heard from the council, and that Pakra’s efforts would be best spent in the compound right now. She had no choice but to accept this ruling. 

She did overhear Moza and Chodo Habat talking about recent contact with their Iridonian friend on the surface. He informed them that Czerka parties had gotten larger and more frequent, and that as of very recently, several Czerka officials seemed to be making semi-permanent residence of the old Ithorian facility. The two seemed understandably worried about the situation.. Strangely, they also seemed a bit concerned about the Iridonian himself. She did not ask about it, lest she make her eavesdropping known. 

Just a little less than three weeks after Moza and Pakra met with the representative, Chodo Habat was called to the Telosian Council. 

They informed him that the bulk of management for the Restoration Project would be transferred to Czerka Corporation.


	7. Chapter 7

The surface of Telos had turned black. The silhouettes of the long-dead trees which dotted the barren fields could be seen as the clouded, greenish haze of the fallout in the planet’s atmosphere. No life existed on the planet any longer, except for the Czerka parties which scavenged for military arms in the post-war wreckage. The waters had turned black and oily, making it the perfect mirror for her nauseating face. She was trapped here, chained to the surface of the decaying planet. She could do nothing but stare at her reflection. This was her atonement. 

Since Czerka gained access to the Restoration Project, Pakra had to use her sedatives to get to sleep. She discovered a couple of months ago, while on the surface, that the sedatives also kept her from dreaming. At first, the grogginess was a side effect of using it, but after a while, she began to wake up ill when she _didn’t_ use it. She feared her body was becoming accustomed to it, and decided that tonight, she wouldn’t use. Unsurprisingly, she had a nightmare. 

Very quickly too. Her clock said 23:46. She had only been asleep for a couple of hours. 

She rolled over and out of bed. Generally, when she woke up from a nightmare, she simply walked off her tension. There were usually a few stragglers around the corridors of the station between three and six in the morning, but for the most part, it was relatively quiet. But it was early enough that tourists, drunks, and kids would still be out. 

Her mood had been low since coming back from the surface of Telos. The Ithorian compound was, understandably, not much better. Most days, she went to the compound and wallowed in their collective depression before going back to her apartment to wallow in her individual depression. She had nobody to talk to outside the compound, and it was beginning to take its toll on her mental and emotional health. 

She thought about Bao-Dur a little more than she was comfortable with, but didn’t try to contact him. She didn’t know how to reach him except through Chodo Habat, which would have been a terribly awkward affair for everyone involved, especially when all she wanted to do was talk to him about nothing in particular. But things had gotten so bad for her that she almost considered fighting through the discomfort just to talk to him again. She didn’t, though. 

Before subjecting herself (and everyone else) to something like that, she thought maybe she should try to socialize elsewhere. 

As good a time as any. Not like she’d be getting back to sleep soon, unless she wanted to pump herself with more sedatives. 

She threw on the most comfortable clothes she could find that could still pass as semi-presentable. A tank top and hotpants were a little more revealing than her typically modest and drab attire, but her figure was youthful enough that it didn’t impart the sensuality that it would for nearly any other woman. Unfortunate, but at least she didn’t get unwanted attention, and picking clothes was easier. 

She took as deep a breath as her frail lungs would allow. She felt a tad pathetic, getting anxious over just going to a bar. She used to do this all the time when she was on Nar Shaddaa.. 

But she didn’t want to think about that. She headed for the shuttle to the entertainment module. 

***

The cantina was almost instantly overwhelming when she walked in. Pakra wasn’t actually expecting it to be so busy, but to most of its regulars, it was still relatively early in the night. The music was upbeat and fast, and like most cantinas, it was completely instrumental, in part so that it did not interfere with conversations, and also because of the diversity of languages spoken by the bar’s patrons. Indeed, although Citadel Station was mostly humans, most of those in the cantina were nonhuman. Travelers on business tended to frequent such establishments, which tended to create rather colorful crowds. 

‘Business,’ however, was a broad term, and could include potentially dangerous individuals. Exchange members and mercenaries were also common sights in such places. A couple of Mandalorians stood near the bar, obviously waiting for someone-- whether it was a client or a target was unclear. She felt very small and vulnerable as she approached to order a drink, one of them turning to her, his gaze invisible under his helmet. She tried to avert her gaze, but her fear made her reflexively look towards him. 

“S-sorry.. excuse me..” she felt like a little kid again, going to the bar for the first time. 

The Mandalorian just looked away, clearly not interested in any manner of interaction. 

The bartender was a presumably-human man, about middle-aged. Much taller than Pakra, he practically had to crouch to speak to her. 

“Something you need, miss?” 

“U-um.. d-do you have.. xuvva’s breath?” 

“Now that’s a request I haven’t heard in a long while,” he snickered as he mixed some other drink. “My eyes aren’t what they used to be, but you don’t look like a Hutt to me. Why would you want something like that?” 

“Just.. feeling nostalgic, I guess..” 

The bartender raised an eyebrow, but neither belabored the subject. “Nah, we don’t have.. that sort of thing. Sorry.” 

“I see.. um.. just your strongest claret, then.” 

“You have odd tastes in alcohol, girl.” 

After getting her mug of claret, she took a tiny sip. It was strong and dry, with acrid overtones and a bitter aftertaste. Perfect. 

Pakra chose a seat at the bar as far from the Mandalorians as possible. She turned to scan the room. Most of the occupied tables were of people of the same species, or who were wearing similar uniforms, or both-- probably either tourists or colleagues. Some played pazaak, others spoke in hushed tones, others obnoxiously loud. Some couples stood away from any of the groups, flirting not-so-subtly with each other. And of course, some of the men ogled the Twi’lek dancers. 

Basically, all of those people were out of the question for socializing with. 

There was a single Wookie on the far wall: tall and angry, leering across the room at nobody in particular. He looked like a bouncer, but Pakra wasn’t sure. A Duros looked to be drowning his sorrows away at the other end of the bar. She was sympathetic, but she had enough sorrow on her own. There was a Rodian sipping whiskey on the wall opposite the Wookie. He looks in her direction, and she thinks she might’ve made eye contact with him. Sure enough, he walks towards her. 

He rattles off something completely incomprehensible to her. She takes another sip of her claret. 

“I’m sorry.. I don’t speak your language.” 

The Rodian laughs. “That was _your_ language, sienn. You don’t speak your own tongue?” 

“Only bits and pieces..” 

“No wonder you’re huddled in the corner, looking so sad.” 

She had no response, except to close in on herself more. 

“Sheesh! I’m no monster, sienn.” He takes a healthy swig of whiskey. “I only wanted to offer you a cure for that sad, sad look.” 

“Um.. n-no, I’m not really interested.. right now.. I’m sorry..” 

The Rodian cocks his head. “I’m not trying to pick you up. Eh.. no offense, but you’re not really my type, sienn.” 

She could’ve done without the addendum. She takes in a mouthful of her drink, the alcohol scorching her throat on the way down. 

He stepped inward, coming almost uncomfortably close. “I have a cure better than any man. Even me.” from the breast pocket of his utility suit, he pulls out a tiny vial. The contents looked like fine-grain sand, sparkling faintly under the bar lights. She wasn’t born yesterday. She knew it was giggledust. 

“I.. I think I’m good.” 

“You sure, sienn? You don’t sound so sure.” 

She met the compound eyes of the Rodian, thousands of tiny photoreceptors staring back at her. 

“You’ve had it before, haven’t you? You don’t look so innocent anymore.” 

“How much?” 

“For you? Hundred-fifty.” 

“That’s.. suspiciously cheap.” 

He shrugged. “Maybe I feel sorry for lonely Twi’lek girls, drinking alone in cantinas.” 

“What’s it cut with?” the sudden, sharp interrogation threw the Rodian off. 

“Whoa! Hey! It’s not cut with anything, sinya. First time discount. That’s all.” 

Pakra fishes the credits from her shorts and takes the vial. “..there won’t be a second time.” 

“Oh, you’ll be back,” he dismissed, counting the credits. “Have fun, sinya.” 

The Rodian disappeared to the adjacent room of the cantina. 

Hold on. She came to this bar so that she could socialize and _not_ use the drug that she was becoming dependent on. Instead, she only socialized with a dealer and ended up with _more_ drugs. 

_..this was a stupid idea._ Pakra knew she wasn’t good in these situations, and yet she went anyway. She gulps down the rest of her claret and sets the mug onto the bar, preparing to leave. Instead, she is approached again, this time by a fellow Twi’lek woman. 

She says something in Twi’leki, and Pakra can only pick up a few words. 

This again. 

“..I don’t speak Twi’leki.” 

The woman looks surprised, but doesn’t inquire about it. 

“Was that guy bothering you?” 

“The Rodian..? Oh.. N-no, he was just..” Pakra didn't have a good answer for her. She didn't want to be a snitch, but she didn't really know enough about either of these strangers to have a believable excuse. 

The Twi’leki woman looks a little unsure about the girl's half-answer, but she smiles nonetheless. 

“Just wanted to make sure. Haven’t seen you around here before, and you don’t look like a tourist.. or a merc.” The woman was quite pretty: tall, thin, and wearing the ubiquitous uniform of a Twi’lek dancer. Her skin was a vibrant green, and her lekku nearly reached her waist. Pakra wondered if they were heavy, especially when you’re dancing all night. 

“Oh.. I moved here a little while back, I just.. don’t get out very much..” 

“Hey.. are you thinking of being a dancer here?” 

She tensed up, reaching for her claret, only to remember that it was gone. Her mood was already low, and nothing seemed to be helping it so far. “That’s not funny..” In addition to her lack of curves, Pakra’s lekku were almost abnormally short, barely extending to her collarbone. Her nose was a little too big, her mouth a bit too wide, and despite being Rutian, her skin was oddly washed-out. Despite being a Twi'lek, she was clearly not typical dancer material. 

“H-hey! I was being serious! A lot of girls come through trying to be dancers.. I just try to warn them.” she gives a bitter smile. Pakra returns it, well-aware of the terrible way Twi’lek dancers are often treated. Some are functionally slaves, forced to work off a debt while simultaneously charged for any silly fee their ‘employer’ could come up with, docked for offhand remarks and dirty looks-- anything to ensure that the woman’s debt could never be absolved. Other times, the women had no choice but to enter the profession, discriminated against in more ‘respectable’ fields. You could do practically anything to a dancer and get away with it, as most wouldn’t retaliate out of fear of losing their livelihood. Pakra didn’t envy them. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Ramana. You?” 

“Pakra.” 

“Pakra.. Never heard that before.”

“Well.. I actually made it up on my own.. when I was a kid..” she realizes this was the first time she’d told someone off Nar Shaddaa about her name. 

Ramana snorts. “Hah! Love it.” 

Her gaze drifts across the cantina, and her grin fades. Looking the same way, Pakra notices the glare of a Twi’lek man near the dancers’ stage. Something was silently communicated between the two green-skinned Twi’leks, and whatever it was, neither seemed particularly happy about it.

“I gotta get back to work, or my boss is gonna have my ass,” Ramana mutters. “But hey, you get out again, make sure you say hi, alright?” 

“Y-yeah.. See you.” 

Pakra watched the woman leave. It was only a couple minutes, but she did get a name. Maybe it wasn’t all bad. 

***

When she got back to her apartment, she tucked the vial of giggledust away with her sedatives. May as well have it all in one place. Giggledust for the day, sedatives for the night. That said, the claret was strong, and her head still felt a little misty from the single mug of it-- if she injected herself tonight, she might not ever wake up. Crawling into bed, she hoped the alcohol would also keep her from dreaming. This was not the case. 

It was less of a dream and more of a fuzzy memory. She was on a street corner with Backwoods and Fish-Scale, waiting for Whiskers to show. Whiskers didn’t particularly like going out in the daytime, especially if he had to wake up for it. Getting him up was like pulling teeth. Raggamuffin promised they’d be there on time, but his word didn’t mean much. 

Backwoods and Fish-Scale shared some sweetspice, the honey-scented smoke wafting into Pakra’s nostrils. Fish-Scale held the spliff out to her. 

“I’m good.”

Fish-Scale just shrugged and took another hit. 

Not that she thought she was ‘above it’ or anything. She was no stranger to spice. All of her friends used some variant of it, to different degrees. She just thought sweetspice was more style than substance. 

Just a short ways behind her, she could hear voices laughing and chatting, gradually becoming louder. By the time she turned around to see them, they had gone mostly quiet. It was a group of mostly human boys, save for one Nemoidian, all of whom appeared of similar age to her own group: about twelve to fourteen. They quite literally looked down on the trio of aliens sitting on the curb, their sense of superiority obvious in their smug grins. 

In the merchant quarter, you could find people all across the socioeconomic spectrum. The few upper-class individuals on Nar Shaddaa got to flaunt their status as the common rabble went endured their daily struggles. Most of the upper class were either successful merchants, or they were higher-ups in an illicit trade group, such as the Exchange. There was significant overlap between these two classifications. 

The wealthy on Nar Shaddaa didn’t wear fancy clothing or jewelry, nor did they carry around expensive tech. Those things would just make you a target. It was obvious who was important simply from the way they carried themselves, how they talked, and the cleanliness of their persons. Running water was not unheard of on Nar Shaddaa-- _clean_ running water was another story. 

They watched the boys pass by. 

Fish-Scale rolled his bright yellow eyes, snout twitching as he held his tongue until they were out of sight. “Can’t blame Whiskers. The parasites skitter 'round in daylight.” 

Backwoods snickered as she took another puff off the spliff. “Too scared to spend daddy’s money at night.”

All of them knew those boys’ parents were probably somehow related to the spice trade, and yet they looked down on the lower classes for using it. 

“Backwoods,” Pakra nudged her Rattataki friend. “..I want a hit after all.” 

Pakra had considered trying a bit of the giggledust in the morning, but had lost all desire when she woke up. Maybe not great to do before going to the Ithorian compound anyway. 

After changing and brushing the taste of the cantina out of her mouth, she headed that way. Nowadays, she was never very enthusiastic to go to work, as much as she liked her colleagues there, she was not fond of the effect the compound had on her mood. Anticipating another depressing day, she thought maybe she would need that giggledust tonight after all. 

She passed through the entrance to the compound’s scarcely-utilized waiting room, expecting it to be empty, as usual. Instead, she immediately met the all-too familiar, unreadable gaze of her Iridonian acquaintance. 

“Good morning, Pakra.” 


	8. Chapter 8

The giggledust couldn’t have possibly made her feel as ecstatic as she did now. In his absence, she had thought about Bao-Dur more than she’d like to admit-- to anyone, including herself. Just yesterday, her longing was nearly intolerable. And now, here he was, at the compound, without explanation. 

Once her shock subsided and it sunk in that he was really here, she tried to think of what to say to him, but she failed to find the words. Her brain was scrambled from the suddenness of this situation, combined with the emotional rollercoaster of the past couple weeks. Part of the problem was she wasn’t even entirely sure  _ what  _ she was feeling right now. Obviously she was excited, she was happy to see him again, but neither of those sentiments seemed enough. Her heart’s undulations began to flutter, and her head felt heavy and dizzy. She could think of nothing to do except get closer to him.. Yes. That is what she wanted. To be close to him. 

Her clumsy steps towards him stopped only when his body visibly tensed, clearly having entered his personal space. Just a little over a foot away, she looked directly up at him. She could hear him breathing. She wanted to be closer. She shakily began bringing her arms up. 

His own hands raised instinctively. 

“This is a bit much..” 

Pakra seized up and stepped back, her face becoming warm from embarrassment. 

“S-sorry, I just..”  _ am glad to see you?  _ She couldn’t say that. It was evident that her enthusiasm with meeting again might’ve been unexpected. “Um.. why are you here?” 

“I wanted to talk to you, actually.” 

“Huh?” she didn’t know what he could’ve wanted from her. It’s not like she was particularly important in terms of the project, except as a much-needed additional pair of hands. She was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to help with anything that he could’ve possibly needed. 

He tensed again, looking around the entrance room and down the short hallway to the main room. 

“Maybe we should go somewhere quieter.” 

She didn’t know what he could mean by that, given that the compound was already a very still atmosphere, especially as of late. But she could comply nonetheless, following him as they found one of the compound’s meeting rooms. Incidentally, it was the same room that she and Moza talked with the council representative. She’d prefer not to think about it. 

He closed the door behind them. Much like before, this room was a little dusty from disuse, making it even harder to breath. The room was already rather small, and her anxiety made it only more constricting. They both stood there for a few uncomfortably long moments. She could only stare breathlessly at him, waiting for him to speak, her nerves becoming more agitated with every passing second as her mind was left to wonder. He looked like there was most definitely something on his mind, but he just didn’t know how to deal with it. 

“What is it you’ve been doing here?” 

Pakra was a little surprised by the generality of the question, but answered dutifully nonetheless. 

“Well.. I’ve mostly been helping in the plant nursery for transplantation prep.. but..” it was unclear, with the recent developments, whether those transplantations would actually happen. 

He again looks as if carefully considering what to say next. 

“Have you done anything about the Czerka situation..?” 

“Have I.. done.. anything..?” Pakra didn’t know what to make of this question. It was entirely vague. Czerka was now in control of the Project, and everyone knew that. He had to have known that. So what did he mean? “I don’t understand..” 

For a brief moment, he looked displeased with the response, before returning to his usual expression. Pakra is a little on edge, feeling that she will be judged for the answers she gives in this room. For what purposes, she is not yet sure, but she is now aware that this conversation is more high-stakes than she initially thought. 

“Do you want to do something about the Czerka situation?-- No, actually, do you think something  _ should  _ be done about it?” 

The questions seemed virtually the same on their face, but apparently the difference was significant enough for him to amend his original statement. Pakra considered both of them carefully, and the difference between them. Bao-Dur waited, watching her with a soft gaze. She averted her eyes, only made more anxious by the pressure of his stare. 

“What’s the alternative? To just let Czerka take over?.. No, I.. don’t think that anything will happen.. unless we fight. I think the project depends on it.. I think.. Telos, depends on it.. So.. yes, I want to help.. and I think I should.” she blushes a little, feeling slightly embarrassed somehow, but she still believed she gave a satisfactory answer. She nods, both to him and herself, reaffirming her answer. 

Bao-Dur continued to stare at her. It only made her feel more guilty for her previous transgression towards him. This really was uncomfortable to endure. 

“I think we can work together, then. To fight back.” he smiled, but Pakra didn’t like it somehow. 

Why was he asking these questions? Why was he saying these things? Wasn’t all of this really obvious to him?  _ Of course _ she doesn’t think they should just roll over and let some arms manufacturer wreck havoc on a vulnerable ecosystem.  _ Of course  _ she wants to help fight back against that.  _ Of course  _ they can work together to do that-- wasn’t that the point of the compound?

“Were you thinking of doing it yourself..?” 

“Yes, I considered that.” 

“W-what? Why would you do that? You know we’d want to help you..” 

He frowned a little at that last statement. 

“Pakra, I’m asking  _ you  _ to help me. Not anyone else.” his soft, breathy voice when speaking those words.. Pakra felt her heart beat faster. She would’ve been completely bewitched in any other context. But after her momentary enchantment, she just felt more confused. 

“But.. the Ithorians--” 

“Would not help me with this. I’m not going to suggest it to them.” 

She blinked rapidly, thoughts racing. She said nothing, entirely at a loss for what he was trying to say. Bao-Dur picked up on her confusion, sighing as he resigned himself to abandon the euphemism. They would get nowhere if he kept tiptoeing around the point. 

“Czerka is always going to come out on top if we try official channels. They have more capital and power than we could ever hope to get. We have to try other tactics, or the project will fail.” 

“Other tactics..?” 

“Guerilla tactics, Pakra.” 

_ Guerilla tactics.  _

“Hah.. ha-ha.. um.. are you teasing me again, Bao-Dur?” 

“No.” 

He was deathly serious. Pakra felt herself shrink back. Her heartbeat found a new reason to become unstable, and a couple beads of sweat began to form on her forehead. The air in the room seemed to thin as she faintly gasped. Once again, she was paralyzed in fear by him. Like a small, frightened animal, her eyes searched for any alternative exits in the room, but found none. He was directly in front of the only one. Her immediate thought, still rather fond of the Iridonian in spite of the current predicament, was that he wouldn’t hurt her if she tried to run for it. But she did remember that he had ambushed her before, and he did just propose  _ guerilla warfare.  _

“D-do you mean.. like.. killing.. people..?” she could barely squeak out the words. 

His expression, again, unreadable. He was thinking about it. She didn’t know if that made her feel better or worse. 

“I was thinking more along the lines of surveillance, sabotage, terrorism.. That kind of thing. I’m not certain, but I think that we should try to cause as few deaths as possible.” 

_ ‘Try?’ ‘As few as possible?’  _ He looked disturbingly unphased by the idea. 

“No! That’s.. that’s not good enough! We can’t kill anyone!” 

“If we don’t, then Telos could  _ die. _ ” 

He might have been right about that. 

“There has to be.. other ways..” she says it, but she has no suggestions. “Even if someone works for.. a place like Czerka.. they’re still a person. They don’t deserve to die!” she knew all too well that when people were poor and desperate, they’d do anything for money. Working for a corporation like Czerka was probably necessary for some to survive, and it was better than some of the more dangerous or unlawful occupations. 

“Does that really absolve them of any culpability?” 

Were there any legitimate reasons for a person to be killed? Even if they had a good reason to work for Czerka, were they still complicit in executing the immoral deeds of the corporation? If so, was that a crime worthy of death? If not, could their deaths be justified as the necessary cost of achieving a greater good? 

“I don’t know. I don’t know..” 

The two fell into silence. Bao-Dur was apparently resolute in this endeavor, and Pakra was having several internal crises at once. He waited for her to collect herself, uncertain if his meddling would agitate her more. He understood this was not something to be taken lightly, and it was better for her to work through it on her own, regardless of her ultimate decision. 

“What if.. I don’t want to?” 

Bao-Dur almost looked hurt as he contemplated it. “It would help to have another person. Especially someone here, on Citadel Station.. But I’m doing this. Alone, if necessary.” 

So, it was going to happen anyway. His actions were not contingent on her decision. In other words, she couldn’t stop him. And in spite of her moral dilemmas, he was fundamentally right about the reasoning he used to get to this point: Czerka had infinitely more power than they did. It would be nearly impossible to win against them using official means. But if they didn’t do something, then Telos might die. This was the _ultima ratio._

In the end, there was no way she could refuse. 


	9. Chapter 9

As evening almost set in, Moza entered the plant nursery, where Pakra was currently working. Despite facing the door, Pakra’s eyes did not meet his. He wasn’t even entirely sure whether she registered that he’d walked in. Her stare was firmly fixed on one of the plants, clearly deep in thought, although Moza couldn’t ascertain what. She almost looked physically ill, or at the very least, emotionally unwell. 

“Pakra?” 

She jumped upon hearing her name. Obviously, she hadn’t noticed his presence. The character of her intense stare had not changed-- it was now simply turned to him. She smiled, but it felt artificial. 

“Is something wrong?” 

“No.” the word was unusually firm for the little Twi’lek, who was almost never definitive about anything. Moza felt something was very wrong, but it was not really his place to pry into the personal affairs of his colleagues. He didn’t know Pakra well enough for that anyway. Though, he did not think it was a coincidence that her agitation coincided with Bao-Dur’s presence at the compound. 

“It’s past the end of your shift-- apologies for not reminding you sooner. You may go home.” 

“Um.. actually, I think I will stay. I am.. very interested in this plant.” 

Indeed, it was a beautiful, rare, and exceptionally peculiar plant. The bachani plant was a rather large specimen, with wide, dark green leaves, and massive, purple-petaled flowers. The stamen extended out from the center in three sizable stalks, the pollen grains resembling the puffy tops of dandelion seeds. Most definitely the most visually interesting plant in the nursery, as well as the most interesting in terms of cultural and historical significance, given its medicinal (and recreational) uses. But was Pakra really that interested in it? She was staring at it when he walked in, but it didn’t seem to be the look of someone studying a scientific specimen. Still, there wasn’t any real reason why she couldn’t stay. 

“Well.. if you’re sure. But do not push yourself too hard.” 

“Yeah.. I’ll.. keep that in mind..” her voice was wavering, but there was little Moza thought he could do to help her. She had said nothing was wrong already, and it would do no good to press someone already so prone to stress. 

He turned to leave, only to be stopped by her shaky voice again. 

“Moza? What will we do?.. About Czerka, I mean?” 

It was unsurprising that this was the source of her concerns. Perhaps Bao-Dur had spoken with her about it. The matter was complicated, and he worried his answer would do very much to soothe her anxiety. 

“Right now, we are appealing the Council’s decisions.. Although..” he didn’t finish the statement, but the implication was clear to both of them: nobody believed it would do very much. It seemed a formality rather than a practical measure. “We have discussed the possibility of forming an affinity group.. From there, we may be able to do a public outreach campaign for the project. There’s also the potential for a boycott or a divestment campaign..” 

“I see..” her eyes turned back to the odd plant. “Thank you, Moza.” 

“Pakra?” 

She returns another blank-eyed smile to him. 

“Please be careful.” 

She narrows her eyes slightly. “Of course.” she thought it was eerie, that sense that Ithorians had when something was off. 

He was not convinced, but he took his leave anyway. 

Moza didn’t know Bao-Dur particularly well. Moza was Chodo Habat’s representative, so most of their leader’s affairs went through him. The Iridonian, however, had become a personal friend of Chodo Habat, and thus usually spoke with him directly. Despite not having much personal contact with him, Moza, like most Ithorians, viewed him fairly positively, as a generally amicable person with talents that had been, to this point, very helpful to the project. That said, he seemed very.. personally invested in the project. Chodo Habat seemed to know more than he did about the Iridonian, and also expressed similar sentiments. They both worried that he was not taking the Czerka situation particularly well. It was rather odd that he’d shown up so suddenly, saying he needed to speak with Pakra. Perhaps they were personally involved-- they immediately went to a private room once she arrived this morning. But if that were the case, it was strange that he didn’t visit until after the Council handed over control of the project to Czerka. 

Moza hated to assume the worst, but he knew that people often made reckless decisions when they felt personally threatened. Pakra tried forging their data because she was threatened by Czerka and the Council. Bao-Dur might try something similar if he had enough emotional investment in the project. And.. he knew that Pakra was eager to please, and frankly, a bit of a doormat. He didn’t think Bao-Dur would be so callous to manipulate her, but he did think she’d be susceptible to influence, especially from someone as strong-willed and intimidating as the Iridonian. 

Moza was the last person to leave the compound-- aside from Pakra, of course. When she was still a receptionist, she was usually the person to lock up the facility at night, so he didn’t have to worry about that. He just hoped she was okay. 

Meanwhile, Pakra had moved to the wall which was shared with the entrance of the compound. The side of her head was pressed up against the metal, listening for the door’s operations. She heard what sounded like Moza leaving, and she waited a few minutes after the door initially shut, just to ensure he was truly gone. 

When satisfied, she headed to the receptionist’s counter and accessed the security system. As was standard, there was a security camera in every room of the compound. The Ithorians rarely ever checked it-- they weren’t uptight about monitoring people, nor was there ever a break-in or any similar criminality there. But if they were ever caught, then law enforcement might go through the recordings. She found the record and deleted all of the footage of them in the meeting room this morning, as well as footage from any other room which showed them together. There would now be obvious gaps in the security tapes, but that was better than recordings of them explicitly discussing unlawful direct action. From now on, they wouldn’t meet in the compound, so that they wouldn’t have to worry about leaving such evidence behind. 

With that, she locked up the compound and headed to her apartment module. 

***

She had been on edge all day thinking about this. Walking into the module, she couldn’t help but fret over what Bao-Dur might want her to do. All of this seemed like it would require some degree of secrecy and discretion, and Pakra was a terrible liar and was clumsy in everything she’d ever done. She really didn’t know how much help she’d be. Maybe she’d just be a liability. 

“Pakra? Miss?” 

It was one of the desk receptionists of her apartment module-- the one who typically worked the evening shift. Her youthfulness was especially apparent now, as she called to Pakra with uncharacteristic hesitancy. 

“H..Huh?” 

“Ah, um.. There was a man, a, uh.. Zabrak man, he said he was here to see you.. I let him in.. Y-you’re usually home by now, I thought you were here..!” 

“Oh!” it seemed the receptionist believed she’d let in an intruder. “No, I was expecting him.. It’s okay.” 

“Oh, good..” her fear turned to relief, and then to intrigue, as she considered what the situation was here. Pakra understood how it looked: they were apparently close enough that he had her key, and she trusted him to stay at her apartment, alone.. Obviously, the two of them were different species. The young receptionist didn’t look as if she was making some bigoted judgement, but her face did look as if she’d overheard some dirty little secret. “Uh.. well.. good night, miss. Apologies for the misunderstanding.” 

“No, it’s.. fine. Good night.” 

The receptionist simply gave her a knowing smile as Pakra passed her. 

Walking into her apartment to find Bao-Dur waiting for her made her feel some kind of unidentifiable emotion: slightly uncomfortable, slightly exciting. It quickly subsided upon remembering the context. 

“No issues with the security footage?” 

“No.. it’s gone.” 

He nodded, smiling a bit wider than usual. It made her nervous. 

He hadn’t told her at the compound what they were going to do first, only that it would be a ‘preliminary organizational measure,’ whatever that meant. He said he anticipated it would be ‘fairly simple,’ although he didn’t sound even marginally convincing. Pakra hoped that was truly the case. She had a feeling that even if he was being genuine, they might have had different standards for what qualified as a ‘simple’ operation. 

“I think it would be best to strategize relative to Czerka’s activity… would you agree?” 

Pakra nodded. She was already planning to agree with everything he said. It was simpler that way. 

“Then we’ll need to know what they’re planning before we can make preparations of our own.” he waited for her response, but she had little to say, so he continued. “The most straightforward way to do that would be bugging their compound. Assuming we planted them well, it’d be a one-time operation.” 

Pakra did not like the sound of this  _ at all.  _ This did  _ not  _ sound like a simple operation. But more concerning was what Bao-Dur might consider a difficult or complicated procedure. 

“Have you ever been inside the Czerka compound?” 

“N-no..” she hadn’t even considered visiting. “Um.. when I pass by, there are usually armed guards outside, though..” 

Bao-Dur bit his lip. “At all times?” 

“I pass by in the mornings and evenings.. I’m not sure about nighttime.” 

He only nodded, thinking it over. 

“Do you think they know who you are?” 

“Um.. I don’t know why they would..” she knew very few people outside the Ithorian compound, and to her knowledge, nobody involved with Czerka. The Council representative did recognize her as the (former) receptionist of the Ithorian compound, but she’d most likely been there prior to that meeting. “I guess.. it’s possible, but.. probably unlikely..” 

“That’s good. Then it wouldn’t be suspicious if you decided to visit them, right?” 

“Y-you want me to plant the bugs..?!” 

“No. I want you to map out the compound. We can’t just go in blind.. We need to know the layout and any obstacles first.” 

“Ah.. t-then you want me to.. break in?” 

“That’s exactly what I don’t want you to do. Don’t overthink it. You just need a reason to go there.” 

“O-oh.. I see.” a reason to go there.. She could say she’s an investor of some sort, but then again, she hardly has the look of a wealthy woman. The best front would be to try applying for a position there-- being relatively new on Citadel Station, it wouldn’t be unreasonable for her to try doing it, and Czerka might be looking for workers, anyway. It might be an issue if they  _ did  _ recognize her, but with the Ithorians rapidly losing hold of the project, she didn’t think it’d be unreasonable for their ‘receptionist’ to try to find other work-- even with their competitor. Then again.. if word got around about that, it might cause some problems with the Ithorians.. She’d cross that bridge when, or if, she came to it. 

“You can do it, then?” 

She didn’t want to do it, but she supposed she could. Now that she’d thought about it, maybe it was simple-- in theory, at least. But there were a lot of ways it could go wrong. 

“..yeah. Okay. I can do it.” she tried psyching herself up for it, though she didn’t know if it worked very well. 

Bao-Dur appeared both surprised and elated with her response. Usually, his smile looked heavily controlled, as if he were carefully trying to construct his expressions and image. This smile seemed much more genuine, likely being an automatic reaction. Pakra thinks it’s also the first time she’d seen him smile with his teeth visible. They all looked..  _ very  _ sharp. She recalls at one point hearing that the Zabrak are a carnivorous species..

She realized she was staring again only when his hand came up to cover his mouth, in what was probably another automatic reaction. She is immediately hit with guilt upon seeing this act of self-consciousness-- another first time for her. But he doesn’t confront her about it again, moving his hand away to continue discussing their work. 

“There are some problems that we can already anticipate.. Like the armed guards. We’ll also have to find a way to get inside when the compound is cleared.” 

“O-oh! I can pick locks! So..” 

He smiled at her again, seemingly genuine, but also much more controlled now. Her guilt hits her again. 

“Hm.. the door probably wouldn’t have a pickable lock. We’d likely need the access codes.. or something that interferes with a magnetic lock.” his gaze becomes rather knowing in the brief silence that follows. “Good to know about that, though.” he whispers. 

She could not help but blush. Perhaps she was belying her own innocent image. 

“Anyway.. I can work on figuring something out with the door. We can plan to do this tomorrow. Does that work?” 

Pakra nods. 

“Well, I will get to work, then. And I figure you’d probably like to get some rest.” 

He gathered his things and moved to leave.

“W..wait! Where are you going..?” 

Bao-Dur tilted his head. “To the Ithorian compound. I can work there.” 

“What about for.. er.. to sleep?” 

“I can sleep there, too.” 

There were no sleeping areas in the Ithorian compound. He probably wouldn’t be disturbed if he stayed in one of the meeting rooms, but where would he actually sleep? On the metal floor..? 

“N-no.. you can stay here.” 

“Hm? I’m sorry,” his voice became softer and took on a faintly sardonic tone. “Did you still want to sleep with me?” 

“Ack! S-stop!” she remembers that embarrassing exchange from a couple months back. “I really didn’t mean it that way, I swear!” 

“I know,” he smiles. “In all seriousness, though.. are you sure that’s alright? I don’t want to make things.. complicated.” 

Pakra didn’t know what he meant by that, but she did think it was okay. “I mean.. yeah, it’s really okay.. J-just, don’t touch me, or anything like that..” 

He looked both a little surprised and concerned at that request. “Yes, of course. I think that goes without saying.” he set his things back down. “Thank you, Pakra.” 

She nodded. 

He looked around. It was a nice apartment, even if it was small. Most of the furniture was basic, and matched the blankness of the walls and floors. It might’ve been the standard furniture included with the apartment itself. The most eye-catching part of the room was her desk: it was the same style as the rest of the room, except that its corners were cluttered with random, mismatched knick-knacks, in addition to a collection of rather old, tattered photographs. Only one of them had Pakra herself in the frame, next to a rather ravishing Rattataki woman. A journal was the only practical item there, opened to a page of chaotic notes, including her work schedule, disjointed words and half-sentences, and a grocery list. 

“Can I use your desk to work?” 

“Yeah.. just make yourself at home..” 

“Thanks.” 

He turned on the lamp next to it before setting up his things. 

She didn’t entirely think all of this through. She can’t really change with him here. Sure, he was faced away from her, but that was too risky. She could go into the bathroom to change, but honestly, she might’ve been embarrassed just wearing her sleepwear around him. 

“I-is it okay if I.. turn off the main light?” 

“It’s  _ your  _ apartment.” 

After a couple of seconds, she does just that. She decides to take off only her overshirt. Sleeping in the rest of her clothes wasn’t going to be the comfiest thing in the world, but it would have to do. The mattress squeaked as she crawled onto it, and she snuggled up under the blankets as quickly as possible. Covering her up to her nose, her wide eyes faced him from behind. 

Pakra thought it was all a little funny, in spite of how serious the whole Czerka situation truly was. She was cozied up here in bed, in this single-room apartment, just watching his back as he worked. They felt a bit like a disillusioned couple. Or a pair of dysfunctional roommates.. Well, maybe the latter was what they basically were now. Kind of. Except, Bao-Dur would almost certainly go back to the surface before too long. She was often unsure of him, and he might’ve been a lot of anxiety, and now a lot of trouble, but.. She liked having him around. So.. Pakra thought she wouldn’t mind if he just stayed here.

Thinking that, her eyes became heavy, and she drifted asleep. 

Her dream was neither a memory nor a nightmare. Its texture was soft and dark and mystical. Like many memories and nightmares before it, she was back on Nar Shaddaa. But it was different from the Nar Shaddaa that exists now, or that ever existed. Where today there were decaying buildings where residents lived in miserable, inescapable poverty, there were now shining skyscrapers, its inhabitants living in peace and comfort. At the ‘ground’ level were homes built in various traditional styles, the exteriors reflecting the cultural backgrounds of their builders and owners. There were simple stucco huts, ornately-carved wooden temples, homes built from the shells of giant arthropods. Pakra could’ve had a home inspired by Ryloth, but despite being a Twi’lek, that cultural tradition felt very removed from her. She was more accustomed to typical urban living. 

Perhaps more astounding than all of this were the trees. Yes,  _ trees  _ on Nar Shaddaa. Growing, thriving, hundreds of them, practically forming forests at the feet of the skyscrapers, their dark green canopies brushing up against the polished metal. Their powerful roots weaved through the ground, upending the sidewalks and streets-- objectively making them more difficult to traverse, but bestowing an undeniable beauty to the otherwise-bare terrain. In the cracks of the concrete, water pooled from the rains. The chirping of insects-- real, organic ones-- filled the air. A curious firefly floated past her vision. 

It was an odd dream. A fantastical one. It was a dream of hope. But it was also a dream of impossibility. 

When she woke up, she was still facing the same direction, although her desk was now empty. She almost began to wonder where he went before remembering that he was given permission to sleep in her bed. He’s probably right behind her. As expected, she turns around to see him sleeping right next to her, his face less than a foot away from her own. 

Honestly, she was rather impressed that he managed to crawl into bed in the middle of the night without waking her. She wasn’t a terribly light sleeper, but she’d like to believe that she would notice someone slipping into her bed. Apparently that was not the case. He also succeeded in preventing them from touching at all, in spite of the small size of the bed. When she said “don’t touch me,” she didn’t exactly mean that he had to meticulously avoid even the faintest brush against her. At least he was serious about these sorts of things. 

Looking at him now, she realizes it’s the first time she’d seen him actually sleeping. For a little while, she was suspicious that he slept at all, but it appears he was a person like anyone else. It was a strange thing to see. Most of the time, people looked rather peaceful when they slept. Or at the very least, neutral. Such was not the case with Bao-Dur. He looked deeply melancholic, as if there was some poisonous memory that not even his subconscious could escape. It troubled Pakra to think he might have to put in conscious effort just to hide whatever sorrow plagued him. She wished she could help him somehow, but she had no idea how she might even begin to do that. 

Before, when she’d first gone to the surface of Telos, he’d told her she could touch his face when she asked him about his tattoos. He’d definitely said it to embarrass her, but.. did he actually think it was okay? Would he have risked saying it if he wasn’t okay with it? She didn’t know. She also wondered if she was only trying to justify wanting to touch him now. Would touching him be wrong, especially when he was asleep? 

… 

She just.. really didn’t want to see him with such intense depression defining his image. 

Moving as slow as she could reasonably manage, she brought her hand up towards his face. She resolved herself to touch him as lightly as possible, so as to minimize the potential invasiveness, and to ensure he didn’t wake up. Her hand just above him, she lowered only her thumb, barely making contact with his skin. 

“Mmh..” 

He whimpered upon contact with her hand. It was soft, just barely audible, having the characteristic timbre and breathiness of his usual voice, but definitely not a noise she’d ever heard him make before. That single, tiny noise might’ve been overwhelming on its own, but it was not all he did. Still asleep, rather than recoiling from her as he had often done previously, he turned his head into her hand, nuzzling deep into her touch. The profoundly unexpected act made her pull away as quickly as she could manage without waking him. Her heart skipped repeatedly, pounding against her chest. The air had suddenly become hot and thick, and her lungs struggled to catch a single full breath. She could do nothing but stare at him, face warming, silence broken solely by his gentle breathing and the pulsing of her heart. It was only in this moment that she began to understand that she wanted him. 


	10. Chapter 10

The last thing Pakra wanted to do today was venture into the Czerka compound. Last night she’d almost felt ready for it. Now, her mind was tormented as she brooded over what to do about these feelings she was developing. Or had they already fully developed, and she just didn’t want to acknowledge it? She didn’t know, and it didn’t really matter. Either way, entertaining romantic notions about Bao-Dur would do nothing but cause problems. 

She considered all of their interactions up to this point. He was friendly enough when he wasn’t fixated on the Czerka problem, but he didn’t seem to have any affections for her beyond the very strictly platonic. He seemed to avoid touching her as much as possible, sometimes even recoiling from close contact. Everything he did suggested that he was not interested in her. But even in the improbable scenario that he did return her endearment, would that not complicate what they were currently doing? After today, she would functionally be his accomplice. Working together on illegal activities might necessitate being detached, so as to keep a low profile, and Bao-Dur would inevitably have to return to the surface. His absence would be painful for her if she got too attached to him. 

Beyond that.. there was the issue that they were different species. Pakra didn’t care about that sort of thing; after all, her only past relationship was with a human. There was no legislation on interspecies relationships in Republic territories, but that didn’t mean everyone was accepting of such unions. Her previous partnership gave her some familiarity of the potential challenges, but that mostly related to specifically human-Twi’lek unions. She had absolutely no idea how a Zabrak-Twi’lek relationship might be viewed-- she’d never even heard of such a thing. But generally speaking, it could be dangerous to be open about having a partner of a different species. They’d likely have to keep quiet about it. 

That was way too much stress to worry about. It’d be much easier to just pretend she didn’t feel anything for him. She was not very good at hiding her emotions, but luckily, she was too timid to verbally express them, either. Hopefully, even if her affections were obvious, he just wouldn’t address them. He’d already demonstrated that he was perfectly fine with confronting her when necessary, but she’d already determined that he didn’t share her feelings. So.. maybe if she didn’t act on them, then he wouldn’t force the subject, either. Easier and simpler for everyone. 

This was what was going through her head as Bao-Dur explained to her that morning what she needed to do. She heard the important parts: go in with his remote droid, canvas as much of the compound as possible, and place the electronics jammer he’d prepared on the main entrance door. The electronics jammer was a small, circular metal object, which he described as a ‘spark-gap device.’ She had no idea what the significance of those words were, and she didn’t ask. The general idea was that it would emit a sort of electronic ‘white noise’ which interfered with the transmission of signals between separate devices. Meaning, it would scramble the messages between the terminal and door lock, rendering it nonfunctional. The device was also supposed to have a rather wide range, and he hoped that it would also prevent any security cameras from properly storing recorded footage. They wouldn’t know for sure until the area was surveyed, though. He suggested she go later in the day, so as to minimize the amount of time the Czerka workers have to notice something was off about their equipment. 

“Try to put it on the inside of the door, and as far from the center as you can manage.” 

“Mmhm.” 

Pakra’s eyes were blank, fogged up with thoughts of something far from here. 

“..Are you alright?” 

“Huh? What?” 

“You seem despondent today..” 

“Um.. no, I just.. have a lot on my mind..”

Clearly, that was the case, although Bao-Dur was expecting some clarification. She only averted her eyes upon noticing his scrutiny. It seemed she didn’t want to talk about it. 

“Is there anything I can do to help..?” 

This evoked a small, slow gasp from the Twi’lek. The question had some effect on her, although he couldn’t ascertain how or why. 

“N-no.. No.” 

“..Okay.” 

The whole interaction felt a little stunted and awkward for him, but he assumed it was just her nerves getting to her. It would still be a while before she’d have to go to the Czerka compound. He would’ve liked to distract her from it until then, but he wasn’t sure how. 

“By the way.. do you have any weapons here?” 

The question was a little startling for her. “Do you think I’ll need one?” 

“Not today. But maybe eventually.” 

“Au..” she looked temporarily relieved. “No.. I thought about it, actually, but.. my stipend makes blasters kind of.. inaccessible..” 

“Well, we’re not in any hurry.. I was only curious.” 

“Um.. if you think I’d need one soon, I.. can probably find a way..” 

Bao-Dur turned to her. “What do you mean?” 

She cleared her throat as her back straightened, trying to look as authoritative as was possible for someone so pathetic. “I-It’s easy, if you know what you’re doing..” 

He pieced the bits together, working out their meaning. He laughed, first to himself, and then at the whole idea of the matter. She was a strange girl. 

“Lockpicking and shoplifting, huh..? Not exactly the first impression I got from you.” 

She pouted. “W-well, they wouldn’t be very effective if you could tell by looking..!” 

He laughed again, only worsening her glower. “Yeah, I guess that’s fair. Still.. it makes me wonder what else you’re hiding.” 

“I.. I guess you’ll find out..” 

She really hoped not. 

***

She repeatedly turned over the steps in her mind. Go to the compound, scout it out, plant the electronics jammer. Sounds easy, right? 

Bao-Dur’s remote hovered around her, trailing just slightly behind. 

“ _Bzzrt--?_ ” 

“I’m just a little nervous..” 

“ _Beep-bzzt-beep!_ ” 

“...Thank you for that..” she added, unsure if her droid companion picked up on her sarcasm. 

It was a little before 17:00. The Station would reach peak traffic times soon, meaning that in the worst case scenario, she would have an easier time fading into the crowds. The door to the Czerka compound was flanked by armed guards, flaunting blaster rifles slung around their shoulders. She felt their eyes fall onto her as she approached, suddenly feeling dirty to be subjected to the gazes. 

“Going in?” the Advozse guard asked. 

She nodded before thinking this was insufficient. She looked up and met his pitch-black eyes. “Yes, that’s right.” she tried to look and sound as confident as she could. 

“Weapons check. Arms up.” 

“I-I have no weapons!” her fear set in, thinking of the device inside her coat jacket. This operation might be over before she even gets inside. 

“Arms up!” he snarls again. She has no choice but to comply if she wants in. She raises them and prays they don’t check her pockets. 

The other guard, a Lethan Twi’lek, pats at her sides, back, and upper thighs. She cannot help but feel uncomfortable with being groped by this unknown man, especially in a public area. 

The guard steps back, muttering something in Twi’leki. She doesn’t understand it all, but did make out a word of affirmation. Sure enough, he releases the door’s switch, and she moseys inside. Stressful, but at least she was in. 

The immediate entrance area looked very similar to the Ithorian compound. In fact, the basic structure and area might have been identical. But it appeared much sleeker in appearance, perhaps having installed custom panelling to the walls and floors. It shined pure white: a bold choice of material, given the amount of upkeep required to maintain its appearance. Clearly, they were fine with that. 

Behind the receptionist desk was a protocol droid. It was plated in a goldish metal, reflecting the color associated with the Czerka Corporation’s image. The poor machine had a metal badge of the corporation’s logo welded to its torso. 

“Welcome to the Citadel Station branch of Czerka Corporation. I am B-4D4. How may I assist you today?” 

The droid seemed normal enough. Although, much like the rest of the room, he had an uncomfortably sterile aura to it. His stiff movements made her nervous. Everything here felt so unnatural. 

“I.. I would like to apply for a position at Czerka corp..” 

“My apologies,” the robot bowed slightly. “Currently, Citadel Station’s branch is hiring only contracted service persons. We are not taking applications for clerical workers or similar employee positions. Again, my apologies.” 

‘Contracted service persons’ probably meant ‘armed guards and mercenaries.’ It would also be a reasonable explanation as to why this droid immediately assumed that this unhealthy-looking girl would not be seeking such work. What now..? Does she say she’s a merc..? That might work in this single instance, but if she has to sign contracts, that might cause some issues. 

“I.. uh..” she needed to say something. Anything. “I used to work with the Ithorians.” 

The droid’s red sensors flickered at her. She really disliked his (literally) mechanical mannerisms. 

“I have.. information about them.”

“I see. Excuse me for one moment: I will speak with our chief representative.” Bowing slightly again, the droid waddled further into the compound. 

When he was out of sight, Pakra exhaled, a headache beginning to set in. She looked to her remote companion, who was silent, still hovering just behind her head. She assumed he was scanning the interior that they’d seen thus far, although she didn’t think it would be wise to speak about that right now. Now that she was alone in this room, she realized how eerily quiet it was. Even in the Ithorian compound, you could hear their voices from the entrance room, and it’s not like they were the most rambunctious of people. Here, it was nearly soundless, except for very hushed clicks and typing from down the hallway. 

She peered down it, and within a second, B-4D4 reappeared, startling her slightly. 

“Apologies for the delay,” he said, shuffling a bit closer. “You may follow me.” 

She had a feeling that this strategy would work, but now she was terrified as she considered what to do next. What could she possibly say? Even if she actually wanted to betray the Ithorians, she couldn’t. They didn’t really have any secrets. Their manner of operations were almost entirely open and free of either ethical corruption or actual criminality-- sometimes to a fault. 

She followed the droid down the hallway, reaching the main room. This area, again, was similar to that of the Ithorian compound in basic form, but it lacked any communal element: rows of cubicles covered most of the floor space, where employees wordlessly worked on their personal terminals, filing documents, corresponding with clients and colleagues, and so on. Employees all wore the same regalia, modeled after an officer’s uniform, save for the bronze-colored trim and trademark logo plastered on the arm and breast pocket. Completely lacking individual characteristics, they appeared to be separate parts of the conglomerate that was Czerka Corporation, rather than independent people. 

On the far left side, somewhat detached from the employees’ cubicles, was a solid metal door, much more secure than the entranceway. Its importance was only reaffirmed by the armed guard stationed outside it. Pakra thought it seemed unnecessary, given that you already had to pass two armed guards to come inside. She and B-4D4 passed by it, and she assumed she would not be going inside there today. They reached another hallway which led to a smaller doorway, which opened upon their approach. 

“Please, go ahead.” 

B-4D4 ushered her inside, and the door closed behind her. It seemed he would not be present for this, and she wasn’t sure if that was comforting or disconcerting. At least her remote was inside. 

This was clearly an executive’s office, but in spite of the apparent status of the room’s inhabitant, there was little to suggest a personal life or individuality beyond her position at Czerka. It was, like the rest of the compound, devoid of warmth. The woman in this room stood behind her desk, staring just beyond the Twi’lek. Her skin was a soft lime-green, its pallor accentuated by her dark hair and eyes. Her smile looked more obligatory than genuine-- although its predatory tint might have been sincere. She had to look down slightly to meet Pakra’s eyes, partially covering her face in an unnerving shadow. 

“Good evening. I am Jana Lorso. I don’t believe my assistant mentioned your name.” 

Oh, that’s right. 

“It’s.. uh.. Sienn..” 

“Sienn..” she knew a bit of Twi’leki. She thought it a fitting name for such a measly girl. “I was told that you were a former employee with the Ithorians’ Restoration Project. Is that correct?” 

“Yes, that’s right.. W-well, technically I’m still an employee, but since I’m here..”  
“I understand,” Lorso smiled. “May I ask why you’re leaving the Ithorian compound?” 

“It seems clear that.. that they will not have any control of the project for very long..” unfortunately, that much might be true. “So it’s.. more a practical thing.” 

Lorso nods. “Why did you initially join the Restoration Project?” 

“Oh! Well.. enlisting with the Republic’s program.. it was a way of getting away from.. my homeworld.” this was also true, although she was not sure how the woman might respond to the Twi’lek being from Nar Shaddaa. She kept that information to herself, for now. 

“Hm.. so, it doesn’t sound like you’re very invested in this work.. Tell me, why continue on the project, then?” 

“I.. don’t care very much about it, b-but..” she steadied herself. “I think my information would be of great benefit.. for both of us.” 

Pakra was afraid that such a presumptuous statement might be taken poorly, but to her surprise, Lorso laughed amicably, immediately understanding the Twi’lek’s meaning. 

“Yes, of course.. That may be possible. But, I can’t agree without proof of the investment.” 

“W-what do you mean?” 

“I mean that you need to show me that you really have something worth our time. You could give us something now to follow up on, or.. Bring us something tangible, and we’ll assess it. How does that sound?” 

“Oh, I see.. um..” it’s not like she had very much to offer, but the latter at least provided an escape route. She assumed it’d been plenty of time for the remote to scan out the area. “Well.. I didn’t bring any, uh.. Documents, with me, but.. I can fetch some.” 

“That’s fine.” Lorso’s smile was probably meant to reassure her, but it was clear she would’ve preferred something now. “I’ll let B-4D4 know that I’ll be expecting your return soon.” 

She was a little uncertain about that-- hopefully B-4D4’s recognition of her wouldn’t cause future issues. 

“Oh, also.. It may be preferable for you to nominally continue working with the Ithorians, even if we strike a deal.. Just in case things become more antagonistic down the line.” 

Pakra nodded. 

“Thank you, Sienn.. I do hope to see you soon.” 

“Yes.. you as well.” 

With that, she held her composure as she left the office, exhaling a sigh of relief after the door closed behind her. She accepted that the guarded door was inaccessible, but it appeared that the rest of the compound had been adequately scouted. Now all she had to do was place the electronics jammer. 

She’d purposefully worn baggy, flowy clothes to draw any lingering eyes away from the precise movements of her body. She’d utilized this tactic before when shoplifting, with variable success, but it seemed more effective than regular clothes. Tucked into the pocket of her coat was the device, a little smaller than a compact mirror. She grasped the edges with her fingers, hand still in her pocket, as she approached the entranceway again. Her back to the receptionist’s desk, she quickly drew it out and turned around, arms slightly behind her body. 

“Thank you, B-4D4.” she smiled to the droid, waving slightly with her opposite hand as she slid the device onto the door. It was apparently magnetized, as it stuck to the metal effortlessly. 

“We look forward to seeing you again,” the droid bowed. 

With that, the door slid open, and when the compound’s entrance was out of sight, she practically sprinted back to her apartment. 

***

Pakra only watched Bao-Dur as he repeatedly reviewed the video that his remote had taken of the Czerka compound. She didn’t know what he was looking for-- maybe he wasn’t looking for any one thing in particular. But he did look very focused on the footage, so she didn’t speak until he did. 

“The turrets will be an issue.” 

She vaguely remembered seeing them inside the main room. 

“Will the.. uh.. spark-gap device not work..?” 

He shook his head, maybe slightly irked. “It only interferes with transmissions between devices.. It won’t mess with a droid’s local functions.” He bit his lip, Pakra finding herself oddly titillated upon seeing his fangs again. She was only half-listening at this point. “I can try using a stealth field. It’d be better if we could avoid detection entirely.. But I’ll bring a weapon, just in case.” 

“Mmhm.” Pakra nodded, very obviously zoned out. 

“..what do you think would be best, Pakra?” 

She blinked, slightly startled upon hearing her name. 

“W-what? Huh?” she came back down to reality, Bao-Dur just smiling at her. “W-what was the question..?” 

He laughed. “It’s nothing, really..” 

She blushed at being caught not paying attention. She didn’t know if he was being passive-aggressive, or if he was just making fun of her. 

“Um.. when will we plant the bugs..? What’s the plan there?” 

“Probably later tonight, if you’re up for it.” 

Her back straightened. “I’ll do my best..” 

“I can go inside, if you can be a spotter. Hopefully it’ll be quick.” 

She nodded, just glad her role sounded a little easier this time. 

“Some time between 2:00 and 4:00 would be best, I think.” 

That was still a ways away. They did have a bit of time to kill, although Bao-Dur seemed very concerned about memorizing the layout of the compound. Their conversation ended there, and Pakra was back to just watching him.. Although, she remembered that he didn’t particularly like being stared at, so despite suspecting he wouldn’t notice with such intense focus elsewhere, she eventually looked away.

She remembered this morning, when she’d touched his face. She’d barely even registered the feeling before her head was flooded with a thousand unwelcome thoughts and emotions. At the time, she’d really wanted to do it, in spite of her apprehension, so she was left unsatisfied with not being able to properly touch him. Naturally, her gaze drifted back to him. The thought occurred to her that she could just ask him for permission-- he did technically already do that, even if it was framed as a joke. The worst he could say was ‘no,’ right? Right. But then it’d be unbearably awkward for her, even if he wouldn’t think much of it. She considered it a few times in her mind, each time coming to the conclusion that she wanted to do it, and each time her chest tightened as she thought she might go through with it. She opened her mouth to speak several times, but struggled to actually vocalize anything. To her surprise, Bao-Dur was completely oblivious to her, until she somehow found her voice. 

“Bao-Dur?” 

He was alarmed to hear her so suddenly, especially given how quiet she’d been since returning from the compound. Her voice was frail, as if something was deeply bothering her. He smiled, putting on the most non-judgemental air he could. 

“Yes, Pakra?” 

She struggled again to find the words, but she had no choice but to scrape something together. He was staring right at her, waiting. His expression was static, patiently awaiting her response. 

“Um.. did you mean it.. w-when you said I could.. touch you..? Your face?” 

Bao-Dur was blindsided by this question. It was certainly not what he’d been anticipating, and for a minute, he didn’t even know what she was talking about. After a moment, he recalled that she’d been staring at him one night, and he’d teased her by saying she could touch his tattoos. He’d really only said it to embarrass her, having been aggravated by her objectifying stare. He considered continuing that energy, but for some reason, she seemed almost distraught by this. 

“Why do you ask? Do you.. want to touch me..?” 

Her face began burning-- first, because she thought he was making fun of her again, but it continued after realizing he was being genuine. She hesitated to respond, and Bao-Dur took notice. He turned to her, now concentrating on her fully. 

“You can, if you want to.” 

He was matter-of-fact. His voice was not particularly affectionate, nor uncomfortable.. She had no idea how he was interpreting all of this, but it was permission nonetheless. She took a deep breath, preparing herself. There was no way she could back out now. 

She brought a shaky hand to the side of his head, a single fingertip finding the horn closest to his temple. It wasn’t sharp enough to do much real damage, but it wasn’t dull, either. Running it down, she moved across its base, feeling a few gentle ridges along its shaft. From what she could tell, these horns weren’t keratinized. They were pure, uncovered bone-- in essence, exposed extensions of his skull. In that context, she felt a little strange touching it, but he seemed rather unconcerned about it. 

One of his tattoos started at the base of this horn before twisting down the side of his face. She followed the line downward, over his temple and cheekbone, curving under his jaw before the continuous line flowed back up, centered over the right side of his face. They really were indentations: not raised like a human’s scar, nor flat like most tattoos, but obvious crevices carved out of his skin. She shuddered to think of how painful that must have been, and how much self-control he would’ve needed for the intricate lines to be made successfully. 

“Are you okay?” 

Apparently, Pakra’s discomfort was clearly painted on her face as she considered the whole ordeal. 

“What do they use to.. carve out.. these lines?”

“A knife.” 

She shuddered at those flat, unemotional words. Just the mental image of letting someone repeatedly drag a knife across your flesh--and also cutting within mere millimeters of your eyes, no less--almost made her whimper. 

“Did you have to be still through it all?” 

“Yeah. It’s the culmination of your coming-of-age, but it itself is a final test of your mettle.. If you struggled or cried, you risked throwing off the artist. Then you could very well end up with messed-up tattoos.. and a permanent mark of weakness.” 

_Holy shit._

Pakra didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what the appropriate response to that could possibly be. Inspecting his tattoos, they appeared perfectly symmetrical, without any odd diversions from the general pattern. Meaning, he was able to get through it without expressing any physiological signs of pain. No wonder nothing seemed to phase him. 

Lost in her thoughts, she realized that her fingertips had been resting on his face for a while. She didn’t really need to keep feeling him, but she didn’t want to pull away from him, either. Slowly, she brought her entire hand to him. His eyes flitted shut as her thumb rubbed his face. As she pet him, she could _almost_ feel him lean into it. It was unbelievably subtle, to the point that Pakra was not entirely sure if it was real, or if she’d only imagined it. 

When she pulled away, his eyes opened as unsteadily as they had closed, and he gave her only a vague smile as his reaction to her affection. 

_Unreadable._

Of course, he’d just told her that he forced himself to be completely still and silent while someone etched away into his face. Naturally, he had to be pretty good at hiding whatever he didn’t want to be seen. But it was endlessly frustrating for her. As things were, she’d never have the confidence to go further, because he never seemed to return her signs of desire. That was probably for the best: after all, she’d thought about all of this earlier today, and decided that entertaining her romantic feelings would be a lot of trouble for both of them. But she was still burdened by those feelings. What was worse was that she couldn’t tell if he simply wasn’t interested, or if he didn’t want to be close for some other reason. Until she knew the answer, she wouldn’t be able to move on. And it seemed she wouldn’t get the answer unless she was very direct… and she just wasn’t prepared for that, and maybe she wouldn’t ever be. 

When it was clear that she was done, he silently returned to planning their break-in later in the night. Pakra had nothing to say, again lost in her worries. 

  
  



	11. Chapter 11

Walking around Citadel Station so late at night was already a bit odd. Inside some of the apartment complexes, there were light adjustment settings that simulated day, night, dawn, and dusk at the corresponding time on Telos IV. It helped many residents acclimate to living on a space station. It was still pretty weird for Pakra, who was used to days that lasted 80 hours. In any case, the common areas had no such settings: supposedly, they were afraid that darkening the public spaces would make crime easier to commit at night. Thus, there was no way to know what time it was in the commons. It was always obnoxiously bright. 

The whole experience felt even weirder with Bao-Dur next to her. They hardly said anything after Pakra touched him. She felt like something was being left unsaid, but she could not tell if she was the only one feeling that way. He was usually pretty quiet, and nothing about his mannerisms suggested that he was nearly as uncomfortable as she was.. She thought maybe she was just projecting her emotions onto him. 

“Good.. let’s hope the spark-gap worked.” 

The guards who once flanked the entrance to the Czerka compound were now gone, providing a clear and easy passage inside.. Assuming the electronics jammer was operational and went undetected, of course. Between the hours of two and four in the morning, there weren’t very many people out, except for a few coming home from the bar, and some cops. Some passed in groups, very obviously inebriated and enjoying the company of their friends, while other, most depressed-looking folks moseyed by alone. Neither category paid much attention to the two, but they were a bit too numerous for Bao-Dur’s liking. 

“Maybe we should wait for it to clear out a bit more..” 

“No.” he was surprised by how assertive her response was. She leaned in a bit to him, becoming hushed. “People don’t loiter around at three in the morning unless they’re up to something.. Just walk in. Nobody will think it’s weird unless you make it weird.” 

He really could only stare at her until she backed off a bit, now self-conscious upon realizing she’d outed herself as a miscreant again.

“I’ll wait for you out here..” she mumbled, averting her eyes from him. “Just try to be quick..” Pakra’s role here was to alert him if there were any issues. She had a one-way pager, which she’d ring once if there was something outside which would interfere with him leaving the compound. She’d ring it again when the threat was gone. Ringing twice meant that someone was coming inside, and he needed to hide. 

“It’ll only take a minute, then.” 

The terminal would normally be used to unlock the door with an access code, but hopefully, it should open manually with the rig blocking the lock. Trying to appear as natural as possible, Bao-Dur pressed the door’s release switch: as hoped, it slid open without protest, revealing the dim interior of the compound. He smiled to himself as he stepped inside, closing it behind him. 

Pakra hated that she was basically doing the very thing she’d advised him not to do just a couple of minutes prior, but there was little else she could do. She didn’t think he’d dawdle-- how long could it truly take to just place a few bugs? Granted, he did have to sneak around the turrets, so maybe it would be better if he didn’t rush it. 

Inside, Bao-Dur worked on placing the first bug at the receptionist’s counter. This would probably be the least useful one-- they probably wouldn’t be having sensitive conversations in the most accessible part of the compound. Still, maybe it’d be useful to know who was visiting. He placed it under the uppermost surface of the counter, away from any objects which were stored underneath, so as to avoid accidental detection during normal use and retrieval of anything in the area. 

Easy enough, but now he had a turret to worry about avoiding. 

Before venturing into the main room, he activated the stealth field generator. It probably would’ve been better if the lights in the compound turned off completely, but being slightly dimmed would have to do. It was best to stay close to the walls, and the tactic seemed to work well enough-- but, if he wanted to plant a device in an optimal spot of the main room, he’d have to venture into more precarious territory.. 

He considered trying it, but perhaps it wouldn’t be worth it. The main room looked to be where most Czerka employees resided, evident by the rows of cubicles and communications consoles within them. Still, even if placed well, if the bug only picked up on the Czerka side of the conversations, he didn’t know how useful it would be. And, if he were detected by the turret, it could seriously jeopardize their operations, practically before they’d even started. So, he decided that he would play it safe, instead planting it just on the upper corner of the entryway separating the hallway and main room. 

He passed by the room that Pakra was unable to access. Needless to say, he wouldn’t be going inside this time. He was curious as to what was inside, but it was terribly risky to venture in blindly. Instead, he continued on, reaching the smaller hallway which led to the office of Jana Lorso, the Czerka executive in charge of operations on Citadel Station. 

Bao-Dur was at first surprised to find the door was locked, until he realized it was a manually-locking door. Perhaps Pakra would’ve been good to bring inside.. although he thought she probably would’ve set off the turret by now. 

He did have a standard security tunneler to assist. He knew the general structures of manual locks, and the basic concepts behind lockpicking.. he just wasn’t very good at it. From what he could tell, it appeared to be a standard five-pin tumbler lock. Inserting the tunneler, he slowly probed the inside, poking at the pins, clumsily trying to get them over the sheer line. One by one, the plug gave way in tiny increments, allowing the tunneler to move further, until all five pins were cleared. With that, the released latch on the door gave way to the inside. 

He had no idea how long he’d been fiddling with the lock; hopefully, Pakra wasn’t getting anxious. The interior of this office was much darker than the rest of the compound, probably owing to manual lights rather than the timed lighting system used elsewhere. Surprisingly, it had none of the personal aspects you might expect of a private office. Its barrenness might make it more difficult to find a great spot. He opted for the same strategy used in the entrance room: placing it under the desk, and away from any stored objects that might cause detection if moved. 

With it in place, all he had to do was get out of here without alerting the turrets. 

Outside, Pakra waited just a short ways from the Czerka compound, opting for a spot that looked a little less like she was waiting for something inside. Lacking anything to do and simply waiting for her accomplice, her mind began wandering off, speculating about what might come after all of this. She didn’t get too far before she was interrupted by an unpleasant, nasally voice. 

“What’s a girl like you doing out at this hour?” 

Her hand automatically found the buzzer on the pager tucked in her pocket. Her thumb hovered over it as she turned to see the same Rodian from the cantina. 

“W-what are _you_ doing out at this hour?!” she became defensive without thinking, annoyed upon seeing this distasteful man again. Of course, it was a silly question. The Rodian turned behind him, and Pakra’s eyes naturally followed. The Exchange compound was just across the way. Not surprising that he worked with them. 

“I’ll let you work that one out, sinya.” 

“S..stop calling me ‘sinya’.. It’s corny.” 

He shrugged. “You didn’t answer my question.” 

She considered whether or not it was something she _should_ answer. He did basically tell her that he worked with the Exchange, which made him less than reputable.. Though, she wasn’t really a saint, either, so maybe it wasn’t a judgement for her to make. Ultimately, she doubted he’d care on a moral level-- but he’d also probably align with whoever was most profitable for him. And Czerka was a hell of a lot more profitable than she was. 

“I’m just.. waiting for someone..” 

“‘Waiting for someone,’ she says? And this late? Very salacious, sinya! Is it business or pleasure, I wonder..?” 

Her face burned at such an obscene suggestion, and she was unable to hide her disgust. 

“Ugh.. stop being nasty..” 

“Hey, it doesn’t matter to me. But a word of advice: you’d get more attention if you weren’t drowning in fabric.. You look like a little girl, sinya.” 

“I don’t care, and I didn’t ask!” her arms came up to cover herself even more. “Go away!” 

“Fine, fine. Sheesh. I only wanted to know how you liked that giggledust..” 

“I haven’t even tried it yet..” 

“Oh? That’s surprising. I hear it helps when you’re doing this kind of work.” 

Bao-Dur had successfully made it back to the entrance. He disabled and removed the spark-gap device that Pakra had planted earlier. They’d definitely figure out something was wrong if it was left active, and it would be best to avoid detection for as long as possible. With that, he slipped out the door, and figured that Czerka would be none the wiser about the whole ordeal. 

He peered just down the corridor to see Pakra standing by the wall, talking to some unknown Rodian. Her back was turned to him, but her arms were curled around herself. 

“ _Go! Now!_ ” 

She wasn’t loud, but it was, without a doubt, the angriest he’d heard her. The Rodian looked fairly unphased. He wondered what he’d said to provoke such a reaction out of her. 

“Everything okay?” 

Pakra turned upon hearing his voice. He saw a mix of pain and resentment on her reddened face, as well as some tears forming around her lids. 

“Oh, is this Zabrak the one you’re waiting for?” 

Pakra tried to compose herself, if for no other reason than to not give Bao-Dur any indication of what was going on. 

“Y-yeah..” she muttered. 

“Hm.. Guess I should go, then,” the Rodian leaned into the side of her face, speaking as quietly as possible. “Careful.. I hear they bite.” Bao-Dur couldn’t hear the words, but Pakra’s expression wasn’t exactly a glowing endorsement. “Later, sinya.” 

When the Rodian was out of sight, she brought her sleeves to her eyes, blotting the tears from them, leaving a few wet spots behind. Her hands rested on her face for a couple moments, hoping that it would cool her down. It worked for a moment, but the heat only returned when she drew them away. 

“Come on.” Pakra began her way back home. No use in staying here any longer. Bao-Dur followed, although he was still unsure about what had happened in his absence. Whatever it was, it had obviously upset her. 

“Is everything okay?” he tried keeping his voice down as they walked, despite very few people being out at this time, anyway. He wondered if it would be better to discuss in private, but he hated to see her looking so glaringly unhappy that he decided to address it now. 

“Y-yeah, I’m.. I’m not.. sad or anything, I just..” she wiped her face again, accepting that she hadn’t been able to hide it. “Just the type to cry whenever they feel.. too strongly..” 

She giggled a bit. Bao-Dur just returned a sympathetic smile, feeling it would be inappropriate to laugh as well. 

“It’s super annoying when you’re angry.. and you just start tearing up.” Bao-Dur didn’t say anything back to her, so she just kept talking. “I-I don’t want to cry! I’m mad! I’m supposed to look scary, d-damn it!” she brought up her fists and puffed out her cheeks slightly as she scowled. Bao-Dur could barely contain his laughter upon seeing her face. Somehow, despite her serious attempt, she’d managed to look _less_ intimidating than before, only accentuated by the slight teariness that remained on her. 

Pakra glanced at him to find the expression of a person desperately trying to suppress their laughter. In spite of her earlier indignation, she could help but laugh herself upon seeing how badly he was trying to take her seriously, in spite of how silly she must’ve looked. 

“S-sorry,” he chuckled a little self-consciously. 

“No, it’s fine.. Thank you, Bao-Dur.” she smiled at him. 

He didn’t understand what he was being thanked for, but didn’t press it. They walked the remainder of the way in comfortable silence. 

***

At the apartment, Bao-Dur showed her how to use the bugs. They both sat at her desk, which had quickly come to resemble a workbench, wires and tools strewn about it, though her sentimental things remained untouched along the back edge. Each bug had a different frequency that she’d have to tune her earpiece to if she wanted to listen at any given time. The audio would also be recorded and stored, so even if she wasn’t constantly listening, she could go back and listen later. The bugs were audio-activated, so there wouldn’t be any empty air on the recordings, but it didn’t respond to keywords or phrases.. so it might be a bit tedious to sift through all of the records for useful information. 

She tried tuning to the bug in Lorso’s office. The earpiece was made for humans and species with human-like ears-- Pakra, as typical for a female Twi’lek, did not have ears like a human. Instead, they were conical, with the opening on the underside. She couldn’t figure out a way to wear it, so she just held it up to her ear, and waited. 

“I don’t hear anything..” 

“...there’s nobody inside, Pakra.” 

“Eh.. r-right..” she set it down, a little embarrassed. She was emotionally drained from such a stressful day, and it was almost four in the morning. Bao-Dur seemed no more fatigued than normal. 

“So.. what next..?” 

“I can listen in for a little while, to see if I can figure out what their current plans are.. and then we can go from there.” 

She nodded. She didn’t like the uncertainty, but at least she might have a little break until they found something worthwhile. 

“Our next steps should be to interfere with their basic operations.. make it difficult for them to function. I think that’d minimize the damage they’re inevitably gonna do.” 

Again, she had no idea what exactly that’d entail, but she was open to whatever he suggested. She wanted to help as much as she could. She agreed that the project would go south quickly without the Ithorians’ oversight, and she wanted to prevent that. She felt it was the morally correct thing to do. Practically speaking.. She needed to ensure that she was still on this project. If it fell apart, where would she go? She couldn’t work for Czerka, firstly from an ethical standpoint, and now because of.. well, all of these crimes she was committing against them. She could maybe get a regular service job somewhere else on the station, but she would probably be miserable doing it. What else was there..? Go back to Nar Shaddaa..? 

No. She wouldn’t do that. She _couldn’t_ do that. 

“We might also want to think about getting popular support.” 

“Popular support..? What do you mean?” 

“Ultimately, I.. don’t think we can take on Czerka forever..” Bao-Dur looked slightly pained to say it, but that much was true. They were a massive, intergalactic corporation, and they were two pissed-off dorks in an apartment. Eventually, they’d be outmatched. “But if we can get people on our side..” 

Pakra understood. Bao-Dur was suggesting, then, that their actions were supposed to bring attention to a greater cause, and rally support from the masses-- not to single-handedly destroy the corporation. That much would probably be impossible, and it would be silly to think they could do it. But they might have a shot at acting as the paramilitary arm of a ‘legitimate’ political cause. 

“Though, that might be a little further down the line. I just wanted to give you a heads-up about it.” 

She wasn’t so sure what exactly that’d entail, even if she knew that the basic idea was necessary. She wasn’t the most charismatic person in the world, but at least she didn’t have to worry about it at this moment. 

As their discussion ended, Pakra felt her head become heavier. She never willingly stayed up so late. Bao-Dur could tell she was exhausted, though he was still a bit worried about what had happened earlier with that Rodian. She had said-- in a roundabout way-- that he’d made her upset, but didn’t actually say how or why. He decided he’d ask about it again, and if she didn’t want to talk about it, then he’d just have to accept that. 

“Pakra..” 

She perked up upon hearing her name. She still looked tired, but willing to talk to him. 

“What happened with that Rodian?” 

She hesitated. She didn’t want to tell him who he was or how she knew him. She had no idea how Bao-Dur felt about spice use in a broad sense, nor how he’d feel about her using it. Her use of spice was nothing new, and she didn’t view it as any different from drinking on occasion. Somehow, she felt that even if he had some objection, he wouldn’t press the issue; however, she didn’t feel like being moralized right now, no matter how briefly. Perhaps that part wasn’t even very relevant to his question. It’s not like the reason she was upset had anything to do with spice. 

“He.. thought.. or insinuated, I guess.. that I was, um.. a prostitute..”

“What? Really?” he immediately thought that his reaction could be misinterpreted: he thought about explaining _why_ he thought that was odd, but then he’d have to note that he didn’t mean it as a personal slight, and all of it seemed like a horrible road to venture down. So he decided to place the focus back on her. “Why would he think that?” 

Pakra shrugged. “Twi’lek girl, alone, late at night, I guess.” 

Bao-Dur tilted his head. 

“To a lot of people.. if a Twi’lek woman isn’t a dancer, then she’s a sex worker.. Those are our only options, I guess..” 

“I.. see..” Bao-Dur felt bad that he didn’t know what to say in this situation. Needless to say, he was not, had never been, and would probably never be, a Twi’lek, a woman, or a sex worker. He didn’t know what it was like to be one of those demographics, let alone two or all three. 

Pakra sighed. “I.. I kind of feel bad, you know..? For being upset about.. being seen that way..” she absent-mindedly curled her legs closer to herself. “It’s not that I.. I resent the women who are dancers or.. anything else.. and I don’t think it’s inherently a bad thing.. I just..” 

She stumbled through her words, unable to piece together her feelings. 

“You just.. don’t want to be stereotyped because of your species, right?” Bao-Dur finished her words for her. 

“Y-yeah! And I.. I hate that we’re so _fetishized,_ too..” she had to push down the anger that she felt boiling back to the surface. She gazed at Bao-Dur. He didn’t say anything, but his faint smile said that he knew exactly what she meant.. and that made her feel guilty. And yet, she didn’t feel any judgement from him. 

“I, uh..” she prepared herself for her confession. “That’s.. why I was afraid of asking you, um.. about.. touching your horns and tattoos, and such..” she giggled, profoundly nervous, and almost in disbelief that she was being so direct about this. She never said things like this outloud. “I know it can feel.. um.. fetishizing.. when people ask things like that.. people sometimes want to touch my lekku, so..” 

Bao-Dur knew he had to choose his words carefully. 

“I really do think it’s better to be open about these things.. and, I don’t think it’s wrong to be curious about the unknown.. You just need to remember that you’re interacting with a person. Not an object.” 

They smiled at each other, commiserating in their shared experience. 

“I’m just glad you actually asked. Some people don’t even do that..” 

“Y-yeah! I’ve had people just grab my lekku before.. It can really hurt, too..” 

Bao-Dur didn’t have very much experience with Twi’leks. He wondered if the lekku were particularly sensitive. 

“Um..” Pakra took another deep breath, again astounded by her bravery tonight, but feeling a rush of confidence from her conversation with him. “B-by the way.. If you want to, you can, um.. touch my lekku.. you have permission..” 

Bao-Dur just laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind, should I ever have the desire.” 

She didn’t respond. Feeling an odd dampening of her mood, he saw she looked rather disappointed with his answer. Evidently, that was not so much permission as it was a thinly-veiled request. Why she was asking for it, he didn’t know: perhaps she still felt guilty for asking to touch him, and she wanted to ‘even the score,’ so to speak. Or maybe she just genuinely wanted to feel him touch her. 

He half-laughed, half-sighed at her. She really wasn’t subtle in the slightest. 

“You’re.. a lot, Pakra..” 

She tilted her head at him, completely unaware of how plain her emotions were. 

“Alright. Come here.” he turned to her completely, gesturing for her to come closer. Her face lit up, every second becoming more nervous and more exciting for her. She scooted her chair closer and faced him, their knees lightly touching. He almost reached out, before remembering she was still wearing the harness that held the lekku in place. He thought that taking it off himself.. might be a little much. 

“Do you want to take this off..?” he barely touched one of the straps, and Pakra remembered as well.

She began unfastening it with surprising fervency-- the straps came undone easy, although her anxious fumbling made the process needlessly time-consuming. After a couple long moments of messing with the headpiece, she managed to slip it off of her lekku and head, exposing both. She could not help but feel slightly naked without it, having never gone out without some head-covering, even before leaving Nar Shaddaa. She did not make any indication towards Bao-Dur; in fact, she seemed too nervous to even make eye contact with him now, having now removed a security blanket. Still, Pakra’s apparent expectation signaled that she was ready as she would ever be. 

Bao-Dur reached out, his palm finding her temple, his fingertips grazing the base of her left lekku. Pakra had been asked many times before by humans-- and other non-Twi’lek-- if they could touch her head-tails. But the way she was being touched now was unlike any of those times: usually they touched midway on the appendage and used their entire hand to pet. In contrast, Bao-Dur moved in slowly and gradually, as if easing her into the interaction. The sensitivity of her lekku meant that heavy-handed petting was often physically uncomfortable, but this was also distressing for an entirely different reason. Instead, Bao-Dur’s touch was restrained enough for Pakra to adjust, and by the time he wrapped his hand around the base, she had warmed up to the sensation. She closed her eyes in hopes of avoiding eye contact, now feeling horribly overwhelmed, but needing him to continue. His fingers loosened slightly as they reached the tip, fingertips brushing against the terminus, sending a shiver across her whole body. Apparently, he hadn’t been content with just feeling the length of the lekku once, and began moving back up it. 

Pakra tried to suppress her expression, now hyper-aware that it was probably betraying how she felt. Still, Bao-Dur could tell that something was bothering her: although, remembering what she’d said just a few minutes earlier, he interpreted it as pain rather than pleasure. 

“Does it feel okay?” 

“Mmhm..” 

“Are you sure?” Upon hearing the words, Pakra’s eyes flitted open, seeing the Iridonian staring at her, looking perhaps a bit concerned, but otherwise unreadable. “Is there some way you’d prefer I touch you..?” 

Those words were.. definitely too much. 

“N-no.. _ah.._ ” she’d meant to say something else, but she was too aroused by his words, his touch, and his voice. She ended up gasping-- quietly, but he was already very close to her. His hands stopped after she uttered it, still resting on her. For the first time, she sees a blush spread across his face as he registered why she would make such an obscene noise. Staring at each other, she knew she had to say something. 

“Uh, I..” she grasped his wrist with both hands, drawing it away from her. “T-that’s.. probably enough..” 

“Y-yeah..” 

He didn’t sound angry with her. Just awkward. She would’ve retreated if she could, but they were in _her_ apartment. There weren’t many places she could go. She sat there in silence, waiting for her agitation to subside before slinking into her bed, praying that she might find sleep eventually. 


	12. Chapter 12

By the time Pakra had become a teenager, she had shoplifted dozens of times with her friends, sometimes out of necessity, sometimes for fun, and sometimes just for the thrill of it. She’d gotten to be pretty good at it, and she was usually assumed to be innocent by virtue of being a small, frail Twi’lek girl. Some of the more wary merchants knew that she was _exactly_ the type of person to look out for: the child gangs typically used the most innocent-looking among them to commit risky crimes. Usually they were short and delicate girls, potentially younger than their companions, wearing the dirty and tattered clothing customary to street urchins. Their ragged appearance sometimes evoked pity, but those in the know saw it as a red flag-- well-off kids generally didn’t shoplift. 

Raggamuffin and Fish-Scale were both getting antsy about other kids encroaching on their territory. They found plenty of discarded knives at the junkyard, in addition to constructing various homemade weapons from scavenged parts. But Raggamuffin wanted the real deal. They would have trouble finding a decent blaster just thrown away, so they’d have to find one elsewhere-- and there was no way in hell they could afford to buy one. 

Pakra and Whiskers always worked well together, so they didn’t mind doing the dirty work for their friends. 

They chose an outlet for the largest weapons seller within their precinct. These stores always had more stringent security than smaller producers, but they refused to steal from local sellers on principle. Not necessarily for any transcendental moral reason. They just wanted to stay on everyone’s good side. You never know when you might need to ask for some help. 

The operation started the same as always. Whiskers went in first, finding the object they were looking for. Pakra would go in a few minutes after and find him, but not approach. Once they confirmed each other’s presence, Whiskers would go elsewhere in the shop, close enough to be heard by her, but not seen. There, he would ‘accidentally’ make some kind of laborious and dramatic mess-- tipping over a display, dropping several items from the highest shelves, etc. He’d call over an employee for assistance. While occupied, Pakra would hide the item somewhere on herself. She’d leave as soon as it was hidden; preferably, while the employee was still occupied. Whiskers would then leave a few minutes after, and they’d meet at a predetermined location, out of sight of the shop, but within a short walking distance. 

This time started no different than the others. Whiskers went inside, and Pakra followed behind shortly after. The interior was like most weapons dealers on Nar Shaddaa: uncovered metal walls and floors, the clicking of every patron’s footsteps reverberating through the small, single-room shop. Rows of parallel, slatted metal walls acted as the displays for various blasters and blades. The swords were incredibly alluring, but there was no way she’d be able to sneak one out. She also liked the rifles, although she suspected she wouldn’t even be able to physically handle them. 

She felt the eyes of someone behind her. Turning back to the entrance, she saw a Kaleesh guard leaned just to the side, his rifle propped against him. A Cathar woman was behind the bulletproof glass at the counter-- Pakra probably wouldn’t have to worry about her. A service droid scuttled around, eventually asking her if she needed assistance. She declined. 

She found Whiskers in front of the blaster pistols. They only exchanged quick glances, sure not to give any indication that they knew each other. He found some other spot in the store, and Pakra took his former place. She waited for his part. 

Within a couple short moments, she heard the sound of metal banging against metal, and the service droid shuffling over to the sound. 

“Oh _no_! My bad! I’m just so clumsy sometimes.” 

That was confirmation. Pakra picked up the blaster, but as soon as she did, she was stunned by how _heavy_ it was. At least a few pounds.. She could carry it in her hands, but it’s not like she could just walk out while holding it. It was too bulky to fit in any of her pockets. Under her skirt, she had a knife holster strapped to her thigh-- she thought maybe she could use that, should she ditch the knife. Admittedly, she was hesitant to lift up her skirt in such a public area, but she had no time to be prissy about it. She hiked it up on the fabric and discarded the knife, shoving the blaster into the holster. The holster didn’t close over, but it did fit inside.. But the blaster was too heavy. It’d definitely pull the holster strap down after a few steps. 

Pakra could hear Whiskers and the droid assistant still shuffling around, but she had no idea how much time she had left. She’d already taken way too long. It would be way too suspicious to have Whiskers do that again. She had to get it on the first try. 

She was wearing a tight-fitting undershirt that might work. Girls stored things in their bras all of the time, so an undershirt should be functionally the same, right? She quickly lifted her overshirt and shoved the gun inside her tank top, underneath her arm. She couldn’t put it in the front: she’d have to hold her arms around herself, and it’d be painfully obvious she was hiding something. But if she walked with her arms close to her sides, she might be able to hold it in place. 

She had to move now. She had to walk like a fucking droid, and even that didn’t keep the gun in its place. She could feel it slipping down with every step, and she struggled to maintain her composure. By the time it’d slid into the crook of her waist, she decided that she would absolutely not be able to keep it in place. She just had to get out before it fell. She picked up her pace, but it wasn’t enough. Only a few meters from the exit, the blaster fell out of her shirt and onto the floor, rattling against the metal floor loud enough to resound through the entire shop. The Kaleesh guard instantly turned to it, and then to the tiny Twi’lek who stood next to it: the only place it could have come from. She stared at him with the wide-eyed, static gaze of a prey animal as he approached. 

His inflection indicated that he’d asked something, but the language was something she couldn’t understand. 

She opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn’t. She didn’t know what to say. She’d never been caught before. 

The Kaleesh repeated his question, but with increased offense and force. 

She did the only thing she could. 

She began to sniffle, and within a few seconds, tears began to form in her eyes. She began to sob, and the Kaleesh who was towering over her stepped back, very obviously shocked and uncomfortable with this development. She had clearly been trying to steal that blaster pistol, but she did look like a little kid.. And now she was bawling her eyes out in the middle of the shop. 

“I j-just w-wanted.. t’ s-sell it to b-b-buy f-food..” she wiped at her face with her oversized sleeves, tears falling incessantly down her cheeks. “I’m s-so sorry… I’m s-s-sorry..” she stood there, head down, sobbing out repeated apologies. 

In the end, she was let go with a warning. 

“I never knew you were so good at acting..” 

Whiskers and Pakra walked back to the junkyard together. 

“Well.. I never really needed to do it before..” she laughed. “It’s easy.. I can show you how to do it.” 

“I dunno if it’d have the same effect if I did it..” Whiskers was actually a year younger than Pakra, but he looked like a teenaged, human boy. “You’ve really never done it before?” 

Pakra looked offended at the suggestion. “I wouldn’t do that to you guys! Geez.. you think that bad of me..?” 

“Sorry, sorry..” Whiskers waved it away. “Scary skill to have.. You’re gonna cause a guy a lotta grief someday, Pack Rat.” 

“Ah! You _do_ think badly of me!” she pouted. 

“Fish-Scale ‘n Rags are gonna be pissed, y’know..” 

“Ah..Me and Backwoods will take Fish to the Jekk’Jekk Tarr.. Raggamuffin is your problem.” 

“Gee, thanks.” 

“I mean, you’re welcome to come with us..” 

“I’ll letcha know when I wanna snuffocate..” 

“I think it’s ‘suffocate’..” 

“No, it’s ‘snuffocate.’ Cuz it’s like, ‘sniff’ and ‘execute’ put together. I’m sure.” 

“Oh. Okay.” 

That sounded wrong, but she trusted him. Naturally, the conversation would’ve ended there. Pakra was fine with silence, but Whiskers always found something else to say. 

“Hey, Pack Rat? What’s it like in the Jekk’Jekk Tarr?” 

“Oh.. well, it’s a lot brighter than most cantinas.. They’ve got these colored lights in all the different rooms..” 

“Different rooms?” 

“Yeah.. it’s like.. Different air in the different rooms. Temperature and everything, too..” 

“Wow. Is it nice?” 

“I dunno.. I guess it’s cool. I don’t know much other than the air here, though.. But.. I like that they have lots of different drinks. Weird stuff. They never ever card me, even though I look like a kid.. And in the Ryloth room, there are lots of pretty Twi’lek girls, and they always say nice things to me..” 

“ _Of course_ there’re pretty Twi’lek girls if you’re there.” A smile spread on his heavily-freckled face. 

She pouted again. “You just said I was gonna cause boys problems...” 

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t like you if you weren’t trouble, Pack Rat.” 

She had always associated that memory with terrible embarrassment. She did have some pride-- as such, getting caught doing one of the few things she was normally good at, and then crying like a baby in public, was not a great memory. But it’d been a long time since she’d dreamt about anything relating to Whiskers that wasn’t horrific. She woke up from her dream feeling no embarrassment, but instead, the fondness of remembering time spent with her dear friend. Though, it was odd that she was thinking about it now. Maybe it had something to do with the sneaking around she’d been doing with Bao-Dur.. He had mentioned she should get a weapon. 

Speaking of which, where was he? Upon waking up, she was facing the other side of the bed, but it was conspicuously empty. She rolled over to see that Bao-Dur was awake, fidgeting with the frequencies on the bug earpieces. 

“Mm..” she groaned as she sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Bao-Dur..?” 

He swiveled the chair towards her. “Good morning, Sleepyhead.” 

She was caught off-guard by the pet name. The situation was a lot to handle first-thing in the morning: being called such a sappy name, waking up to see him, and the closeness and vulnerability that came along with functionally living together. The energy of it all was not imperceptible to Bao-Dur, either. Even if he tried to avoid touching her and they didn’t know much about each other, there was still something very intimate conveyed by virtue of the trust required to let him sleep there. 

“You didn’t sleep at all..?” her concern managed to shine through her sleepy expression.. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it. 

“I couldn’t. I was just so excited to listen to Czerka employees discussing market segmentation strategies.” 

His voice was flat. She genuinely could not tell if he was serious or not. 

“I did sleep, actually. For a few hours, at least.. It’s almost noon, Pakra.” 

“Oh..” she hated waking up so late, but it’s not like she was scheduled to work or anything. It might be okay every once in a while. She hobbled out of bed and over to him, sitting in the same chair as last night. She remembered the incident. It was so difficult to figure out how he felt about everything that happened between the two of them. It wasn’t that it didn’t affect him-- last night, he’d definitely been affected by it. She saw it in his face, and she heard it in his voice. But he said nothing about it afterwards, and acted no different than usual. Never trying to get closer, but never quite pushing her away, either. 

“So.. have you heard anything yet? Er.. anything useful, I mean?” 

“Yeah.. I have.” he didn’t sound particularly happy about it. He was never terribly thrilled when working on the Czerka issue, but this sounded more like reluctance than resentment. “Seems like they’ve already found something of interest on the surface, but they can’t retrieve it, for some reason.. maybe we should make sure they can’t get to it.” 

“How would we do that?” 

“Hard to say without knowing the situation on the surface..” 

She waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. She understood what he was getting at. 

“Oh, um.. so you’re gonna go back, then..?” 

“Yeah.. I’ve already contacted Moza about it. He thinks he can arrange a ship for later tonight.” 

Well, _now_ she was mad at herself for waking up so late. She didn’t want him to leave at all, let alone so soon. 

“Um.. how long will you be there?” 

“Don’t know yet.” 

Not exactly comforting. 

“C-can I.. come with you?” 

“There’s something I wanted you to do here, actually.” 

She didn’t like how quickly he’d responded, as if he was expecting her to ask. She didn’t know what to make of it. 

“The scouts are communicating with the station pretty frequently: requesting supplies and assistance, waiting for instruction from higher-ups.. that kind of thing. I think we should sever that link.” 

She nodded. Sounds as good an idea as any. 

“I need you to do that.” 

Not quite as good an idea. 

“M-me? I don’t know anything about that stuff, though..” 

“It’s a simple procedure. I’ll tell you how, before I leave.” 

“Ah.. can’t we just do it now..?” 

“No. We should try to align the communication severance with my infiltration. In the worst case, if I’m noticed.. It should prevent, or at least delay, them from alerting the station. Buys some time to fix the situation. Anyway, if we did it too early, they’d definitely find out too early. They’re making calls constantly.” 

She wanted to argue with him, but she couldn’t. He was probably right. She had thought upon waking how much she liked to see him in the morning. It was an experience that she wouldn’t mind having every morning. But for now, there was nothing she could do. She couldn’t hold on to him. 

***

The larger part of the day was occupied with Bao-Dur teaching Pakra the very basics of communications technology. She knew next to nothing. Actually, she _was_ familiar with the idea of sabotaging communications systems through wire-cutting, even if her language was less than technical. But her knowledge was heavily simplified, and sounded like it was based on century-old technology. If she’d tried to cut Czerka’s connections with just the knowledge she had going in, then she probably would’ve at least electrocuted herself, if not blowing the whole station to hell. 

They decided she’d go through with it tomorrow, at around 18:00, after the Czerka offices officially closed. She should’ve listened a little closer to his instructions, given how sensitive and dangerous working with such equipment could be. But he said it was simple, right? She’d be fine. Probably. 

Bao-Dur was set to leave that evening. Pakra insisted that she accompany him to the docking bay. He didn’t think it was really necessary, especially since the docking bays were on the opposite side of the station.. but he wasn’t going to stop her. 

Aside from the late night break-in at the Czerka compound, it was the first time they’d ventured out in public together. They were sure to keep a comfortable distance between each other, and to not appear overly-friendly. Certainly, people of different species did travel and associate with each other, but oftentimes these were friends of the same sex, or they were related by business connections. A man and a woman of different species walking together in plainclothes, with at least some degree of casual familiarity, was bound to draw some silent speculation. 

On the shuttle to the docking bay, they sat with a full seat between them, until the car was clear of the prying eyes of other passengers. She scooted over to fill the gap between them. 

“S-sorry.. I might’ve just made things more complicated..” 

He shook his head. “It’s not your fault. It is nice to have some company, even so.” 

A quiet fell between them. The topic itself was never directly addressed. It was what they were talking about even now, but the words _interspecies_ or even _relationship_ were never used. Partly because they already knew what they were discussing, which made those blunt words unnecessary. But it might’ve also just been more convenient for both of them to avoid thinking of each other in that context. Pakra was too curious, though-- she wanted to tease out how he felt about it. 

“I, um.. I do wonder what they think, though.. when they’re staring and such..” 

“I think we’re better off not knowing.” 

That was likely true, but it was not exactly what she was trying to get from him. 

“The receptionist at my apartment complex.. I think she thought that.. we were..” she let the words trail off, still too skittish with the subject. She watched him, tentatively, as he glanced at her, making momentary eye contact before hastily breaking it. He knew he had to say something now.

“Scandalous.. I’m sure the gossip helps with such a mundane job.” 

Also not helpful, but she didn’t know if it’d be good to press it. She had a feeling that even if she did, she would never get an answer indicative of his thoughts one way or the other. Was dodging the subject how he signaled that he wasn’t interested? If that was the case, then she didn’t want to make him needlessly uncomfortable. She let that be the end of it. 

The docking bays were already a little busy with incoming freighters, which typically delivered supplies late at night. But it was still early enough for tourists and business travelers to be coming and going. Consequently, the bays were buzzing with activity, from enthusiastic voices speaking unknown languages to the heavy machinery unloading cargo. The common waiting room was nearly full, packed with anxious-looking aliens and humans alike, waiting for something or someone-- a loved one, or maybe a flight home. 

He stopped and turned to her just at the edge of the commons. “I won’t make you go the full way.” 

“You’re sure..?” 

“I don’t think I’ll get lost.” 

“Ah.. okay, then..” she did actually want to follow him the full way, even if it meant just a few more quiet moments with him. But it wasn’t needed. 

She wanted to ask for a hug. It was just a friendly gesture. There didn’t need to be anything romantic about it. But even if he was personally okay with it, it might be more stressful than anything, with all of these people around. She had to say something to him. She needed to give some indication of her affections, even if it had to stay platonic. Bao-Dur took notice of the girl’s trepidation. 

“Is something wrong?” 

She barely looked up at him. 

“I’ll miss you.” 

Bao-Dur was taken by surprise. He’d picked up on the girl’s sentiments. Last night confirmed his suspicions, and everything since then only reinforced the conclusion he’d come to. He just hadn’t expected her to be forthright about it. After taking a moment to compose himself, his expression returned to neutral, and his voice was as calm as ever. 

“I’ll come back, Pakra.” 

Once again, not the response she wanted, and she couldn’t tell if its purpose was to de-escalate or to obscure. 

“Be safe, Bao-Dur.. Please.” 

“You worry too much.” he smiled at her. “Good night.” 

She watched him depart further into the station, down the corridors which led to the multiple garages and docks. She stood there until her eyes lost track of him, disappearing beyond the crowds. He was so easily lost. 


	13. Chapter 13

The children of Nar Shaddaa took their games _very_ seriously. 

It wasn’t exactly known how, why, or when the games began. Some speculated that at first, the games began as nothing more than children mimicking the territory wars that actual criminal organizations waged. Eventually, they took on a life of their own, with ‘teams’ formed which staked their own territories. These territories were usually semi-public but disused areas: Pakra’s team claimed a junkyard, but other common choices were dilapidated apartment complexes and other abandoned buildings. Teams were often formed out of geographic convenience, but sometimes formed based on shared ideology or values, or even along species or gender lines.

At first glance, these ‘territories’ meant very little materially: the children had no real legitimate claim over them, and they could easily be seized if someone with power wanted to do so. But for many of the children involved in the games, it was a very serious matter. Nearly all of the children came from impoverished families, and most of them had otherwise difficult home lives. Some ran away permanently and lived exclusively in their team’s territories, others were orphaned, a few were kicked out. Kids who still had a ‘birth home’ often wanted a place where they could escape abuse and find community. Many of them considered their teammates to be their ‘chosen family,’ or simply ‘real family,’ with their team’s territory being their ‘real home.’ As such, these kids formed very strong emotional connections to their teammates and their ‘real homes.’ 

More concretely, the territories they chose were almost always already run-down, and their use by the kids only hastened their decay. There was also the issue of basic resources: food, drinking water, beds, and so on. Armed guards were stationed in most shops, and while they wouldn’t kill a child who looked ‘respectable’ (if for no reason other than to avoid the retribution that might follow,) nobody would miss a street urchin. When you shoplifted, you never knew if your failure would get you a verbal warning or your brains blown out. As such, it was considered a safer option to steal from other ‘teams,’ who tended to be of similar age and ability, were armed with only rudimentary weapons, and had little to no technological security. This destroyed any potential that the children could’ve had to work together. 

The junkyard was a precarious territory. It had no shortage of supplies that could be repurposed for building weapons and shelters. Occasionally you could find wearable clothing, or you could staple together (or sew together, if you had the skill and time) scraps of fabric. Food was often inedible, if not having been when it was discarded, then it was after being tossed around with other garbage. If you were lucky, though, you could find salvageable food scraps in bags or containers. The wealth of resources here made it extremely desirable for any team-- but nobody wanted to live there. You’d need to have people stationed there at all times to guard it, and nobody wanted to sleep in the perpetual stench of rot. That said, it was fine to raid every now and again. 

Pakra had zero squeamishness about digging through festering trash. She was not one of the guards of her team, but whenever she was at the junkyard-- which was every opportunity-- she was scavenging. Additionally, she tended to be a bit of a hoarder: collecting and saving any and all objects that she found pretty or unusual, regardless of their usefulness. As a consequence of both of these traits, her teammates made her membership official by christening her ‘Pack Rat.’ She accepted that name with pride. 

She spent the nights at the junkyard as often as possible. The partial remains of a starship were unearthed a long while back, and the interior was refashioned into a sleeping space. Pakra knew that she was better off than most of her friends. Backwoods’ mom was an addict, and Fish-Scale’s dad committed suicide several years ago. Whiskers and Raggamuffin said their parents overdosed, although Pakra didn’t know if it was true; sometimes, the runaways falsely claimed their parents were dead, either as a safeguard in case they came looking for them, or because it just helped them move on. To contrast, Pakra had a mom who worked a low-wage but ‘normal’ job. She didn’t take spice and she never hit Pakra. She never even yelled at her or called her names. Pakra just didn’t feel like her mother loved her. Her mother never said it, but she didn’t really have to. And that made her feel like her mom’s apartment wasn’t really her home. She didn’t tell anyone this: she thought it would be disrespectful to the kids who had nowhere else to go. So, she had to leave if the starship was full, because she didn’t have to suffer at her birth home the way that the others did. 

On this night, she found Whiskers inside the converted starship, curled up into one of the discarded mattresses. Unfortunately, her flashlight landed directly on her friend’s face, causing him to wince awake. 

“Pack Raaaaat….” he groaned as he rolled over. 

“S-sorry..” she turned her light off, but it was too late. Whiskers was already awake, and he flipped his lamp on. He looked groggy and unhappy in the dull, blue light as his eyes darted around behind her. 

“Where’re Backwoods ‘n Fish?” 

“Jekk'Jekk Tarr.” 

“You didn’t go?” 

“I was trying to find blaster parts..” 

“Any luck?” 

She shrugged, dropping her knapsack, and it banged against the metal floor. She always found _something_ to bring back. 

“Urgh.. what time is it, Pack?” 

“Uh.. like, 52:00, or something..” 

“They were going to the Tarr when I went to sleep! Are those freeloaders gonna drink all night?!”   
“Oh.. when was that..?” 

“Like, 45:00.. ish..” 

“Wait… then why are you mad that I woke you up?” 

“Still sleepy.” 

She rolled her eyes as she crawled onto the mattress next to his. “You’re gonna come to Jekk'Jekk Tarr with us next week, right..?” 

“Why would I ever go there?” 

“For my birthday..” 

“Oh.. ugh..” he rolled over. 

“Please? You don’t even have to get me a gift if you go..” 

“Who says I was gonna get you a gift, anyway?” 

She pouted, silently. He was turned the opposite way, but she still held her expression until he spoke again. 

“I’ll try to find a gas mask..” he sighed. He had to sound annoyed, but Pakra knew he wanted to make her happy. “No gift though! I’m enough of a gift as it is!” 

She snorted. “That’s really corny. I can’t believe you actually said that..” 

They had to act annoyed with each other. That was just the way it was. She always thought of the other kids at the junkyard as her family, and up until the past year, she thought about Whiskers like a brother she never had. She always imagined that siblings would banter like this. But now, she wasn’t so sure that’s how she actually felt about him. They were young teenagers at this point, and Pakra was becoming curious about the opposite sex. Whiskers was a human, but she thought that was okay. She thought they looked a little drab without head-tails, and their hair got bedraggled constantly, and they definitely couldn’t hold their liquor. But otherwise, they weren’t that different. And he seemed to like Twi’lek girls. Even the homely ones. 

Staring at his now-sleeping face, she thought about fluffing up his hair. She’d done it many times in the past, but not recently. She’d always been very forceful, abrasive, and teasing about it. In part as an easy way to irritate him, but also because, well.. Human hair is so strange, and she wanted to mess with this strange thing. But maybe that wasn’t the right way to go about it. She thought she needed to try it again soon. She thinks she’d do it right next time.   
  


When she woke up, she was totally alone, in her empty apartment. 

Bao-Dur left last night, and she didn’t know when he’d be back. Now, her room felt too spacious, and she was keenly aware of how little of it she’d actually used. The only evidence of his former presence were some of the repair parts and scrap metal he’d used while working on the bugging equipment. She wanted nothing more than to hear his voice, as she remembered it. 

_Good morning, sleepyhead._

Looking on the empty side of the bed, she thought about waking up to him, right next to her. She ran her fingers along the bed, moving up to the now-unused pillow next to hers, until her longing was interrupted upon feeling frayed fabric. There were several small tears in the pillow, which perplexed her at first, but she quickly realized what they were from. Bao-Dur’s horns must’ve ripped through the fabric while he was asleep. He’d only slept there twice, and the pillow was already tattered. He was going to destroy her furniture, and he was going to do it entirely while unconscious. 

She couldn’t help but laugh to herself. 

She decided to get up while she was on that high-note. Anyway, she couldn’t take the time to be mopey. She had to get to the Ithorian compound. She’d go to work today, as normal, and then after her shift, she’d head to one of the entertainment modules. At the bottom, you could access the maintenance level. There, she could disable Czerka’s communications. Sounds easy, right? 

She hoped so. 

The Ithorian compound was in no better spirits than two days prior, when she last worked. She had more or less accepted that this was going to be the standard mood for as long as the Restoration Project was out of their hands. Moza greeted her in the plant nursery, having apparently been waiting for her. He explained that soon, she may need to help with public outreach development. The Ithorians were apparently concerned about swaying the council back in their favor, and this would be easier if they had a broad and vocal support base behind them. Pakra wasn’t terribly excited about the idea, although Bao-Dur had already mentioned something similar. Until then, she could continue to work on her horticultural training. Before leaving her to her training, Moza chatted with her for a moment. 

“I am sure you are aware Bao-Dur returned to the surface yesterday, no?” 

She only became further disheartened upon thinking of Bao-Dur again. 

“Yeah.. I know.” 

“I was surprised to hear from him. When I received the call, the communications ID was listed as your apartment console..” 

It was a normal statement on its surface, but Moza was simply trying to be tactful in asking the obvious question just beneath it: _what was Bao-Dur doing in your apartment so early in the morning?_

He’d come to work on the Czerka operations with her, but she couldn’t say that, of course. 

“Um..” she pulled at her sleeves, trying to find an appropriate explanation. What could she say? The implication of that situation is obvious, but could she really go with that? She would feel badly about using that cover without talking to him about it first, but surely it was better than risking their plans by telling Moza the truth. At the very least, she didn’t think that the Ithorians would judge either of them if she went with that story. 

“Please don’t tell anyone..” she finally mumbled, trying to be as vague as possible, but giving implicit confirmation to Moza’s suspicions. 

“It is really none of my business,” Moza stated, slightly apologetic in tone. Although she had affirmed his assumption, he still felt that the situation was off, somehow. Still, it would be inappropriate to pry-- he already felt he’d been improper by even alluding to the subject. And, he supposed it was entirely possible that the strangeness of it all was simply because they had to be cautious, even secretive, to avoid being stigmatized. 

“Just.. be careful.” 

Pakra nodded. 

It’s not like there was any reason to doubt Pakra’s truthfulness. He had no proof that they were doing anything illicit in regards to the Czerka situation.. Even if their supposed ‘relationship’ aligned too well with Czerka’s appropriation of the project. Moza could do little except drop the topic for the time being.

The pacing of the day seemed even slower than normal. Her mind was too occupied on what she’d have to do tonight. She had already packed her bag and brought it to the Ithorian compound so she could get started straight away. She continuously repeated in her mind what Bao-Dur had told her to do, until her shift finally reached its end. She didn’t think she got very much done, and she didn’t know if tracing over her instructions was very helpful, either. She began to doubt if she’d remembered them all correctly, and she worried over the uncertainty of trespassing into an unknown area. 

Regardless, she had to go. Bao-Dur was counting on her. 

***

Technically, the maintenance level of the station could be entered from any modules on the station, because the maintenance level encompassed all of the area beneath the modules, and was a broad conglomeration of the electric, gas, water, and other utility systems necessary to run the residential and commercial regions of the station. But, it would not be subtle to just start blowing up the floorboards, and in the worst case, it could kill everyone. Bao-Dur had told her that when he served with the Republic, he’d heard of a failed sabotage operation where a charge was used to destroy a communications matrix. It worked-- and it also caused an adjacent gas main to burst, creating an explosion that killed over a hundred non-combatants. 

It was certainly an effective cautionary tale, but Pakra had been caught by something else. 

“You were in the military..?” 

Bao-Dur had looked as though he’d said something he shouldn’t have. 

“Yes.. as a technician.” 

That would provide an explanation as to why he was working on a Republic-funded operation now, and.. maybe it was also how he lost his arm. He’d said little else, and Pakra got the impression that it may have been a touchy subject for him. A lot of ex-military were that way. She didn’t understand that kind of thing-- the Republic, or why anyone would want to join their militia. There were many questions she would’ve liked to ask, but Bao-Dur had not appeared to be in the mood for any of them. 

In any case, barring the use of explosives, the most direct entrance to the maintenance level was at the bottom of one of the entertainment modules. There, presuming she could pick the lock, she could have safe and easy access. So that’s where she went. 

Pakra thought the entertainment modules were simultaneously the most shabby-looking of the areas on Citadel Station and the most like home.. Perhaps the former caused the latter. Most of Citadel Station was sleek and metallic, the brightly-lit corridors only enhancing the sterile atmosphere. It was also generally single-story, with the exception of some residential complexes, and did not have separate buildings so much as compounds. In contrast, the entertainment modules were composed of actual buildings of raw concrete, stacked atop of each other, connected by ‘streets’ which wound down and around them. Almost brutalist in their architectural design, it would be cold and almost oppressive in its strict adherence to functionality, if not for the multitude of neon signs and projected holograms which adorned the exteriors. The contrast between the utilitarian, low-budget design of the buildings themselves and the obnoxiously ornaments that decorated them was certainly jarring. But it also reminded Pakra of her home, in the sharp irony of a planet being filled with impoverished people while simultaneously being known for materialistic decadence in the form of illicit trade. 

She passed the cantina where she’d met Ramana a few days ago.. Pakra wondered if she was there right now. Not that she could visit her, either way. 

The deeper she descended through the module, the more esoteric the establishments became. Although the entire module was relatively dim in comparison to the rest of the station, the levels became progressively darker as you moved down. Interestingly, the signage tended to be written in foreign languages, and the voices heard could have been speaking anything other than Galactic Basic. 

She hadn’t kept track of how many stories she’d descended to reach the lowest floor. Perhaps it was about a dozen, give or take. It was almost pitch-black, save for the residual light shining from above. Obviously, there was very little down here: she neither saw nor heard any sign of life, and the buildings were most likely vacant. She wondered how often people even bothered to come down here. It looked like the sort of place that’d spawn urban legends, and that parents would tell children to stay away from. She was reluctant to venture further in, but she had no choice. The path ended here. 

The lowest level would have been silent if not for the white noise, the occasional sound from above, and the pitter-pattering of Pakra’s footsteps. Her flashlight was necessary to see where she was going, although it almost made the abyss _more_ eerie. She was never quite sure if the movement from the corner of her eye was the glare of the light, a trick of the eye, or something lurking in the darkness. She tried to shake off that feeling, telling herself that she’d only seen the flickering of her shadow in the light. She was, quite literally, scared of her own shadow. 

The buildings here did not simply look abandoned. They looked like they were never used in the first place. And aside from the sporadic piece of trash, there was no indication that anyone came down here at all. To be expected in a sense-- there was nothing to do here. But it was also surprising: no squatters camping out, no teenagers exploring or kids getting into trouble. Well, Citadel Station was relatively new. They were probably waiting for increased immigration to the station, and they’d eventually use this level for incoming businesses. If not, then perhaps in a few decades, Citadel Station will have its very own lumpenprole, and they’ll make use of this desolate place. 

After some aimless meandering about, she spotted what looked like an unusually wide alleyway between two buildings. Further inspection elucidated that beyond it was a large clearing, devoid of buildings or structures of any sort. She didn’t know if it was more or less ominous than the ghost town before it-- now she just felt like she was in the void. Beyond the ‘alleyway,’ the walls she reached were those of the module itself. She followed them until she reached her target: a narrow hatch, which would presumably lead to the maintenance level. 

The door of the hatch, like the rest of the entertainment module, looked very utilitarian compared to the rest of Citadel Station. Its matte, iron surface looked like it could have been built centuries ago. But it hadn’t, of course-- evident by the modern lock. 

She retrieved a standard security tunneler from her knapsack. She never used anything else-- she thought those fancy lockpicking tools were just a waste of money. Ultimately, whether or not the lock gets broken depends on the person picking it, not the tool they used. And, strictly speaking, there was nothing you couldn’t do with a stock-standard tunneler. Although.. maybe one of those specialized tools would’ve helped this situation go by quicker. 

She stuck the tunneler into the plug, applying a bit of pressure. The plug rotates clockwise significantly, and a loud, metallic click is emitted. Both of these suggested that this lock had spool pins, one of the many ‘pick-resistant’ types of lock modifications.. Annoying. 

Such pins, as the name suggests, are shaped like spools rather than cylinders, making it more difficult to push into the pin stack, because the lips of the spool-pins can be easily caught on the edge of the chamber. Picking such a lock requires more time and patience than Pakra usually cared to spend-- the process of rotating and counter-rotating to get the spool pin to line up perfectly with the pin stacks in each chamber was irritating at best and infuriatingly difficult at worst, especially because it was very easy to accidentally un-set the previously-picked pins if you messed up a subsequent one. Then you had to do it all over again. Normally she just wouldn’t bother, but this wasn’t about her. 

It’s important to keep in mind that such locks are called “pick-resistant” and not “pick-proof” for a reason. There is no way to make a lock “pick-proof.” There was always some way to bypass a mechanical lock. All manufacturers could do was make it more annoying to crack. Pakra was confident that she could work through it, but she had to work quickly. She didn’t think she’d be caught or otherwise interrupted down here, but she had no idea what Bao-Dur was up to on the surface. If he wanted communications down, then she wanted to achieve that as soon as possible. Without the proper focus, such a lock could take up to an hour to break through, or even longer. It didn’t help that the light down here was so scarce. 

After seeing the rotation of the plug, she pressed up the pin stack very gently, watching the plug all the way. She repeated this minute movement, applying the most minimal amount of pressure she could manage. Eventually, the plug began to gradually rotate counter-clockwise as she wiggled the spool pin into its chamber, until the pin stack finally clicked into place upon reaching the shear line. 

Pakra smiled upon hearing that characteristic _click_ of the first pin stack. There was nothing more satisfying than that sound. Better than sex. 

The first pin stack was a spool, and there were a total of five pin stacks. They alternated in type, with three being spooled and two being standard stacks. Generally, such finicky locks were used only for entrances that needed to be extremely secure, and which were not used terribly often. Constant use of the lock’s key would eventually cause microscopic grooves in the key’s surface, making it incompatible with such a sensitive lock. Obviously, this is very annoying for anyone who uses the entrance regularly. It was, if nothing else, a good sign that Pakra wouldn’t run into anyone while she was down there. 

Even though she’d gone into it feeling less than enthused about working with such a fussy lock, once she’d cleared the first pin stack, she was chasing the gratification of setting the remaining pins. For a little while, she forgot that she was at the bottom of this creepy entertainment module, illegally trespassing into a restricted area to tamper with the electrical lines. It became a game, and she was not going to accept failure. 

The pin stacks were set in what felt like no time at all. It was fun while it lasted, although once the lock came fully undone, her anxiety started to return as she contemplated what might be waiting for her beyond the hatch. 

Pakra pulled open the hatch with all the strength her spindly arms could muster. Her efforts were rewarded with the sight of a carbon steel ladder. Shining the light inside, she could vaguely see the grated platform at the bottom. She placed the flashlight aside and attempted to step onto one of the rungs, surprised to find they were slippery. Indeed, when her hands reached the ladder’s frame, it was cold and damp. Upon finding the floor, she realized that this was a sewer tunnel, evident by the running water beneath the platform. At least it didn’t look like she’d have to wade through that. 

She knew which way she had to go, but only relative to the shuttle-level of the module. She tried to picture the map in her head to determine where to go. She thinks it’s straight ahead.. probably..? Hopefully. 

Her footsteps on the grate platform echoed harshly through the tunnel. The running water beneath her and the drippings from the walls and ceilings were not particularly comforting, either. Every few minutes, she heard high-pitched squeaks from other tunnelways and from below-- probably rodents. She didn’t mind them very much. There was certainly worse company out there. 

After a short walk, a wall finally came into view, a single doorway at the immediate end of her path before it diverged to either side. A single light lit the door from above, making it visible from quite far, and only intensifying the eeriness of the setting and situation. She could only stare at the doorway as she steadily approached. It was no more welcoming up-close: it appeared to be constructed of carbon steel, much like the hatch had been. Thankfully, the latch turned without much effort. The lockpicking was fun while it lasted, but she was ready to get out of here. 

Despite being on just the other side of a sewer tunnel, the electrical room appeared similar to the rest of the station: shiny, white surfaces, almost unusually clean and orderly, given its relative location. It probably didn’t get frequent visitors. 

The room was filled with rows upon rows of electrical boxes. The equipment in here was not simply for communications: it was the hub for all electrical processes on the station. Anyone who got into this room would have the ability to incapacitate the entire station. It was no wonder why it was such a massive hassle to get to this point. 

The communications matrix was visibly distinct from the other switch boxes: several dozen tiny lightbulbs on the exterior door immediately identified it. Apparently, these corresponded to the various modules, sectors, and compounds throughout Citadel Station, indicating which locations did and did not have a functioning signal from their communications consoles. Nearly all of the bulbs were lit, save for a flickering few. Pakra didn’t recognize any of the codes next to the bulbs.. She didn’t know which lights represented which compounds. 

She wasn’t feeling terribly confident, but it was too early to become discouraged. She pulled her wire cutters from her knapsack and carefully unhinged the front of the matrix. She removed the front panel, exposing the inside. The interior was a mess of circuitry: collections of cables were labeled with the same codes that marked the bulbs on the exterior. Each code could have anywhere from one to half a dozen associated cables, and each cable contained several multicolored wires inside, which separated from each other as they flowed to the center of the matrix, where they all conglomerated in an intricate weaving of rainbow wiring. 

_What.. the fuck..?_

Pakra stared at it. The codes definitely corresponded to a particular location on the station, but she had no idea how to figure out the pattern. Were the numbers coordinates of sorts? Or, since the Czerka compound was one of the newest developed areas, maybe it was one of the higher numbers? And what about the cables? Why did some of them have multiple cables? Where was she supposed to cut them at? Does she cut all of the compound’s cables? If not, how does she know which to cut? 

_What the fuck?!_

She could feel panic setting in, squeezing the air out of her chest. Did Bao-Dur tell her the answers to these questions? He must’ve. But did she listen? Of course not. She was too lost in her love daze to register anything he’d said to her about it. She tried to put herself back in the moment where he was instructing her. She could remember hearing his voice, but the words were muddled. It didn’t matter how hard she tried, or for how long she stared at the compound codes. She wasn’t going to figure it out. 

Tears started burning in her eyes, angry at herself for being so irresponsible. She wanted to just curl up and let herself rot down here with the rest of the rats, but she didn’t have that option. She was terrified about what might happen if she couldn’t shut off Czerka's communications. 

She tried taking a few deep breaths, her lungs filling halfway with stale air. That was all those damaged, anxiety-ridden organs would accept. She had to make do with it. She closed her eyes, putting everything together. 

She had to take down the communications signal at the Czerka compound. That was certain. She would not allow herself to leave until she did so.

She also knew that this was the communications matrix for the entire station. It managed all of the consoles on Citadel Station. Thus, at least one of these innumerable wires was the culprit. All she needed to do was snip it, and her job was done. 

Well, wasn’t it obvious, then? 

She brought her wire cutters up to the lowermost wire on the left-side of the matrix. Sweat began to drip down the rubber handles as she mentally prepared herself, setting the wire between the blades. All of her instincts were telling her not to, but she had no other choice. She took another deep breath and forced the handles together. 

_Snip!_

The tiny noise was incredibly anticlimactic. There was no explosion, no electric shocks. She brought the next wire between her cutters, and made a second incision, this time keeping her gaze fixed directly on it. 

_Snip!_

Again, nothing except that little sound. With that, she was convinced that she could do it. Her cutters moved up the column of wires, slicing apart each one in her path. It almost became satisfying to watch each wire burst under the pressure of her cutters. She couldn’t know which one was Czerka’s, so she considered each cut wire a small achievement, simply on the possibility that it was the correct one. When the entire column was severed, she moved to the right side of the matrix and repeated the operation. 

At the end, she stood back and looked at the ruined electrical box. All of the bulbs on it were now out. Technically, she’d succeeded in what she’d come there to do. 

Unfortunately, she was never very good at conceptualizing the consequences of her actions. 

  
  
  
  



	14. Chapter 14

Sometimes people just disappeared. 

As a general rule, if a person on Nar Shaddaa didn’t reappear within an 80-hour period, then they weren’t going to ever show up. Occasionally, people would go missing as they fled or hid from the Exchange or similar groups. Most of the time, though, you were safe in assuming the person was dead. 

The frequency of such occurrences meant that relationships of any kind were precarious, especially for those involved in criminal activity, but it was the reality for the lower classes more broadly. You could never be certain that your spouse, your parent or child, or your best friend would still be with you tomorrow, so many avoided becoming too close. If they didn’t, then they would eventually learn how painful attachment could be. 

Pakra was considerably lucky in this regard: going into her teen years, she hadn’t had such misfortune affect her. Her father was never in her life, and while that might have affected her in other ways, she couldn’t miss what was never there. Kids sometimes went missing from her ‘team,’ but not anyone she was particularly close to. 

But she couldn’t escape it forever. 

***

On the return trip back to her apartment, she was surprised to find that most of the station appeared as it always had. She wasn’t sure exactly what she’d expected, but she did think something would be different. She guessed it wasn’t the type of thing to cause riots or anything. She’d probably been catastrophizing over it. 

Upon reaching her complex, she was greeted as usual by her receptionist, who was distracted by something happening-- or not happening-- on her console. Unsurprisingly, the console in Pakra’s own unit was offline, capable of only non-communicative functions. There was no point in messing with it. 

It was now almost 21:00. By now, Bao-Dur was probably investigating whatever Czerka had found on the surface. Potentially, he could have been finished with it. But now she had no way to contact him to get an update. She didn’t know if it would’ve been a good idea to contact him anyway, given that record might appear suspicious if their activities were discovered. But it did make her uneasy to know that it was now physically impossible to do so, until the communications system was repaired. She had no idea when that might be. Surely it wouldn’t take long to notice that all communications were disabled on the station, but how long would it take to actually fix? Would it be repaired by the morning? Or would it take weeks? What if he ran into trouble while on the surface?

..She didn’t want to think about what that might lead to, but such a thing was easier said than done. It sometimes felt that the harder she tried to push thoughts from her mind, the more they fought back. They would inevitably drift back to the forefront of her consciousness, and the cycle would repeat. Even if she managed to ignore them for long enough to fall asleep, she doubted she would rest peacefully tonight. 

… 

Resignedly, she rummaged through one of the drawers on her nightstand. Towards the back, she found the full vial of giggledust, and next to it, the bottle of sedatives. She set both next to her bed as she prepared a hypodermic syringe, replacing the needle with a gauge that would be a little less painful. There were only a few more left-- she’d have to either conserve, reuse, or find more. Something to worry about later. 

She watched as she pulled a single dose of the drug through the needle, the syringe slowly filling with the thin, bright-orange liquid. Despite doing her best to perfect the intake, a couple of tiny bubbles remained inside the body. When a few lazy flicks did little to dispel them, she just accepted it. She wasn’t going to waste any of the sedative trying to get them out. 

She pinched the skin of her thigh, careful not to accidentally pull on her muscle. It would hurt if she accidentally pierced it. After a deep breath, she forced it in, pleased to feel only a minimal pinch. It did burn slightly as she injected it, but otherwise, it was relatively painless. When she removed it, only a tiny drop of the orange fluid rose out of the pinprick, and a tiny bit of pressure prevented any further sedative from escaping. Satisfied with her performance, Pakra fell back onto the bed. She didn’t have to wait very long until she was taken into a dreamless sleep. 

***

She was happy to avoid any nightmares, but there wasn’t much she could do about the daydreaming the next morning. She was avoiding using the giggledust before going to the Ithorian compound. It was unlikely that the Ithorians knew too much about spice or its various effects, but it’s not like they were stupid. They would pick up on something. Even if they didn’t, her work was much too passive to entertain a mind affected by such a powerful stimulant. Looked like she would have to raw dog it during the day. 

Her console looked like it was still down. Not terribly surprising. When she left her unit, she was noticed by the complex receptionist, although the morning’s greeting was a bit different from usual. 

“Miss Pakra! Excuse me,” the small human girl bowed after stopping her. Pakra felt her heart pound, thinking this girl might question her about her whereabouts last night. She waited for the girl to continue, unable to speak from the tightness in her throat. 

“An officer informed us last night that all communications are currently offline, both local and intergalactic.. My apologies,” she bowed once again. 

“Oh.. uh..” Pakra hadn’t quite prepared to give an answer to this news. “When did you find out..?” 

“Before midnight. We’ve been informing tenants since then.. Apologies for not informing you sooner,” she said with her third bow. 

Pakra felt rather bad for the girl’s genuine remorse. 

“Ah.. it’s not your fault, really..” she laughed a little to herself, mostly out of nervousness. “Thanks for telling me..” 

The girl nodded, and Pakra took her leave. The information would be relayed again upon arriving at the Ithorian compound, albeit with less apologetics. Not like the Ithorians had any reason to apologize. 

“I presume you heard about the communications sabotage?” Moza asked her in the plant nursery. 

“Sabotage?” Pakra perked at the word. At first, she was worried that investigation into the matter would eventually lead back to her. That might be the case, but even the most cursory inspection would make sabotage the obvious cause. It’s not like a rat would’ve pried open the matrix and chewed through all the wires. 

“Yes.. someone destroyed the entire station’s matrix.” 

“Do they know who did it?” Pakra blurted out with atypical intensity. The strangeness of the question and her diction were not unnoticed. 

“I don’t think so..” Moza responded with caution. “They don’t really tell me.” 

Of course, Moza was a representative with the Ithorians. Why would security tell him one way or the other, and especially the identity of the culprit? Besides, if they knew it was her, they would’ve already detained her. It’s not like Citadel Station was a huge place, and her schedule was very predictable. If she was found out, she’d know. 

“It is troublesome for us. We’re unable to reach our scouts on Onderon and Dantooine.” Moza added with sincere worry. Pakra was again hit with guilt. “I don’t know when we’ll be able to restore contact.” 

“Will that cause issues..?” 

“It’s difficult to say without knowing how long the outage will last,” Moza spoke slowly as he mulled it over. “At the very least.. it will further stall our reintroduction efforts.” Obviously, with most of the restoration territory now forcibly ceded to Czerka, reintroduction efforts were already greatly hindered, and this would do little to help the situation. Pakra had probably caused Czerka a fair bit of issues, beyond helping Bao-Dur avoid detection on the surface. But it seems she’d caused problems for the very people she was supposed to be helping. And who knows what other trouble she’d caused on the station, or even on other planets that might’ve been trying to contact them..? 

After Moza left her, her mind naturally began to wander as she considered how many people she might have affected. She’d taken such a drastic measure to help Bao-Dur, but she didn’t even know for certain if she’d done that much. In the end, she couldn’t even contact him if she tried, and he might’ve needed her before the time it’d take to repair the matrix. If something happened to him, it’d be her fault. 

There was nothing she could do about it now. She wanted to make up for her mistake somehow, but what would that entail? 

…

The bachani plant in the nursery had been bothering her for some time. She knew it was used for medicinal purposes, and sometimes as a recreational drug. It wasn’t the best high, but it had recently gained some traction in certain circles as a spiritual health product. But its sale was regulated, and the plant’s size and growth requirements made its cultivation difficult. Though, that wouldn’t be an issue if you had an entire planet to work with. 

Would Czerka be interested in such a thing, or did they only care about weapons? Ultimately, it was all about profit, so whether it was from arms or drugs didn’t matter too much, right? Presumably, Jana Lorso was still waiting for her return with some investment regarding the Ithorians. She could use the bachani plant as proof that she had sufficient access to the Ithorian Compound to make her worth their while. Then, future infiltration and information gathering could become much easier. And the bachani plant was planned to be introduced to Telos, anyway. It seemed like an all-around positive for them. 

But.. she was uncertain about going through with something so major without consulting Bao-Dur first. She didn’t have a great track record so far when it came to making executive decisions. So, she decided she shouldn’t go through with it until she got back in contact with him.. whenever that might be. 

All she could do was wait. 

***

Such was the course of the next day. She went to work as usual, trying to keep her guilt and despondency to herself. She certainly couldn’t share why she felt that way with anybody. She’d keep an eye on the consoles at the compound, and ask Moza about any updates. She would return home in the evenings, to find her console still deactivated. She’d take a sedative to get to sleep, and to avoid any nightmares. 

The day after almost followed the same pattern, until she moved to prepare her nightly sedative. She found only a single needle was left. 

She thought she should save it for an emergency. Part of her believed this situation  _ was  _ an emergency, but perhaps she had other options available. Unfortunately, none of them were healthy, but she never cared about her health, and she was not about to start now. She had a bottle of claret saved in her room that she considered breaking into. It wouldn’t stop the nightmares, but it would at least help her sleep. Then she remembered: when she was going to sabotage the matrix a few days ago, she’d walked past that cantina she went to. The one where she’d met the Twi’lek dancer. 

She loathed the possibility of seeing that awful Rodian again, and it was currently earlier than when she’d gone before. Ramana might not have even been working tonight. But it was worth a try. It couldn’t be worse than drinking alone in her room, right? 

After a few moments of psyching herself up, she left for the entertainment module. This time it was a bit easier, having a more solid idea of what to expect. The corridors of the station were still plenty busy at this hour, although lacking in the purpose and virility that they normally had. Instead, it felt as though many of the station’s visitors only meandered about because they had nothing better to do. It was probably as noisy as usual, but the tone was significantly less upbeat. 

The cantina itself had taken on a similar air. It was likely fuller than when she’d first visited, but much more lifeless. The same fast music was being performed, but it did little to assuage the disgruntlement of the guests. From the looks of it, many of the patrons tonight were travelers who were now temporarily stranded, as the docking bays were unable to pick up signals from incoming vessels. On the right hand side, she saw the familiar emerald glow of Ramana’s skin, sparkling faintly under the stage lights. She found herself enchanted by the movements of her body, distracted by the sway of the woman’s hips as Pakra approached the bar. 

“Gorgeous, isn’t she?” 

Pakra turned to see the bartender. He was not particularly memorable in appearance, but figured there was probably only one middle-aged, human male bartender at this cantina. 

“She is..” 

“A real shame about it all. At least she’s nice to look at.” Pakra cringed at that comment. “You’re the girl who wanted xuvva’s breath, right?” 

“Y-yeah.. That’s me,” she laughed a little, surprised that she was remembered. She did recall that her request was rather odd, though. That was probably more memorable than her own person. 

“Almost didn’t recognize you in that..” This time, she was in her typical clothes, covered nearly from head to toe. It was far from the typical bar-going wear. “Lucky you got an unforgettable face.” 

Pakra didn’t consider that a compliment. But he probably didn’t mean to insult her. 

“Could I get some claret? Something dry, please..” 

“Sure can,” disappearing for a brief moment, he returned with a tankard and darkly-colored bottle. She watched him pour the red-tinted alcohol into the mug. “I got half a mind to order some xuvva’s, if you still want it.” 

“Definitely!” she was almost a little too excited about the prospect. “U-uh.. have you had it before?” 

“Yeah, once. That was enough for me,” his face soured upon remembering that vile drink. He set the mug of claret in front of her, and Pakra took it with both hands, taking a tiny test sip. It was dry, alright. “So, you stuck here too?” 

“No, I.. I live here, I just.. came to see Ramana, actually..” 

“Lotta people do,” he smiled. “Figure you’re a little different, though.. Ramana knows all the Twi’leks on this station, I swear.”

As if summoned upon speaking her name, Ramana had appeared next to her. Pakra had been too distracted to notice that the song had ended and moved on to something else. Apparently, Ramana had decided that was a good time to take her break. 

“Breath of heaven, ple~ase,” she cooed to the bartender. She turned to the fellow Twi’lek. “Sorry.. I totally forgot your name. It’s.. Passik?” 

“Pakra,” she corrected. 

The woman nodded “Pakra, Pakra.. Got it,” tiny beads of sweat had formed on the woman’s face, glistening like jades under the bar lights. The bartender returned with a small, glass cup, filled halfway with rust-colored liquid. “Wasn’t sure I’d see you again.. Gotta say, you seemed a bit like a recluse, and, eh..” she scanned the Rutian up and down. “You’re still not really betraying my impression.” 

“Ah.. well, I.. usually am, but..” she let the words trail off, eyes floating across the cantina. Ramana assumed she was here for the same reason everyone else seemed to be. 

“Really sucks, huh?” Ramana took a sip of her drink. “Tips have been shit for the past few days. Everyone’s real pissy right now.” 

“Yeah..” this wasn’t really helping Pakra forget about her worries. 

“So, do you only come to the bar when you’re sad? Or do you always look like a kicked puppy?” 

“Um.. both are probably true..” 

“Well? How’s all this troubling you?” 

Pakra turned to Ramana. The woman’s green eyes sparkled, a warm smile painted on her face as she awaited a response. Pakra was uncertain of the woman’s motives; after all, they hardly knew each other. But Ramana looked earnest in her intentions. Pakra could sense no deception or wrongful motives. Even so, she certainly wouldn’t tell her the whole truth, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt to open up a little bit. She took a swig of claret, followed by a heavy breath. 

“There’s someone I can’t reach now.. I’m just waiting for everything to be fixed..” 

“Someone?” Ramana cocked her head. “Family, friend, or..?” 

“Uh…” Pakra fidgetted as she held her mug of claret up to her lips. “A friend.. S-sort of..” 

“Ah. A man, huh?” As usual, Pakra was completely transparent. “Always a man behind every girl’s problems..” she waved her hand, leaning back against the bar. “He’ll be back. Enjoy the time alone, girl.” 

“I just hope he’s safe.. I’m.. really worried..”

“..Do you have a reason to be?” 

Pakra thought about it for a moment. She was in the habit of catastrophizing, but that didn’t mean her concerns were unfounded. There certainly was a lot that could’ve gone wrong. 

“..Maybe. He could’ve ran into trouble..” 

“You like guys who’re trouble?” 

“I guess.. Against better judgement..” Pakra giggled. 

“You’re full of surprises,” Ramana smirked. “Hey, I’m not gonna judge your tastes, just be careful. It’s real fun until he’s betting you on a game of fucking pazaak,” she snarled, punctuated with another sip of her shot. “You know how that is, though..” 

“I.. I really don’t…” 

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of a man’s voice just behind her. Pakra turned to see a Twi’lek man. She thought it might’ve been the same man she’d seen last time, standing by the dancer’s stage. He rattled off something in Twi’leki, though Pakra could only understand a few basic words. Something about drinking? Whatever he said, he didn’t sound very pleased with Ramana. Surely, she didn’t look very happy, either. She hissed an affirmation in reply, barely holding back vitriol. When the man left them, her glare intensified to a full-on scowl. 

“Fascist,” she muttered, pouring back the rest of her shot. She winced as she swallowed it. “Well, hey, hope you hear from your man soon.” She moved to return to her work. “Let’s talk again soon, alright?” 

“Y-yeah.. See you, Ramana.” 

“Bye-bye,” she smiled, wiggling her fingers at Pakra as she headed off. 

Pakra watched her. When the next song started, she started dancing with it. She tilted back the rest of her claret, replaying everything the young woman had said to her. 

***

It was just before midnight by the time Pakra had returned home. She’d maybe had a little too much to drink, finding it difficult to make it back to her apartment on her own. She did think the claret would help her sleep, although she was unsure if she wanted to do that yet. Her emotions were a little too strong now, as she thought over everything. She’d forgotten how nice it was to talk to another woman-- it was comforting to talk to a sympathetic person, even if she didn’t quite understand the situation. 

There was some strange feeling in Pakra when Ramana talked about Bao-Dur as if they were an item. That wasn’t really the case, of course, but it made Pakra consider that possibility again. It was still probably not possible, or in the very least, a particularly bad idea. Even so, it was fun to think about. And now, inundated with alcohol, she hardly had the self-control to keep her mind from wandering into forbidden territory. 

She settled into her bed, face nuzzled against her pillow, fingers running down the tears in the other pillow. She giggled to herself in the empty apartment as she thought about it again. She was a little surprised that they were sharp enough to cause that much damage. Maybe she needed to feel them again. And then, maybe there’d be an excuse for him to feel her lekku again.. if he was still comfortable enough to do it again. 

She thought about how good it’d felt when he touched her. Nobody had ever pet her lekku like that before, with such soft, gentle strokes. Just thinking about it made her shiver. And what had he said, too..? 

_ Is there some way you’d prefer I touch you?  _

It was too good. She was not entirely convinced that it was all accidental, but his reaction afterwards did seem to suggest that. Either way, she couldn’t help but wonder how else he might pleasure her, if only she’d let herself risk it. How might it feel to interlock their fingers together on this bed, their bodies pressed tight, the soft gaze of his amber eyes.. 

She didn’t quite remember when she’d fallen asleep, but apparently her fantasizing hadn’t ended when she lost consciousness. When she awoke in the morning, a warm sensitivity remained on her body, accompanied by a dampness between her thighs. Funny that she always remembered her nightmares so vividly, but little else. The claret probably hadn’t helped much in that regard. 

Her console still appeared offline. If it wasn’t repaired by tonight, what would she do..? Drink again? Or use her final needle? She told herself that it was something to worry about later, although that didn’t stop her from thinking about it on her way to work. Her rumination only made it all the more shocking to find that the Ithorian Compound’s console was now online. She immediately went to Moza. 

“When did the console start working?” 

Pakra hadn’t even said hello. She’d seemed oddly fixated on the communications issue for the past few days. 

“Er.. some time last night?” 

“Oh.. huh..” she bit her lip. “My unit was still down..” 

“I’m sure it will be fixed soon..” Moza had absolutely no idea if that was true, but Pakra was so on edge about the topic that he wanted to reassure her somehow. She didn’t look very comforted, though. 

“Have you.. Contacted anyone? O-or.. um.. has anyone contacted you..?”    


“We were able to reach our scouts on Onderon. We are hoping to get in contact with Dantooine sometime today, too.” 

“..I see.” 

Pakra thanked him. She’d desperately wanted the console to be fixed, but now that it was, her fixation simply shifted from the console to hearing from Bao-Dur. She considered contacting him herself, but he was supposed to be covert. She could’ve caused problems if she disturbed him.. So she had to continue waiting. 

This shift was more excruciating than any of the previous ones. She could think of nothing except Bao-Dur. She hoped every time the console rang or the doorway slid open that it might be him, but it never was. The day ended as uneventful as any other, and without any word from or about her Iridonian friend. She wondered if he’d try to contact her, rather than the compound? She couldn’t say for sure. She was probably the one to alert should a skirmish with the Czerka scouts occur, but otherwise, he’d probably contact an Ithorian for passage back to the station. Regardless, he wouldn’t be able to contact her if he wanted to: her console at home was still busted. 

Then there was the issue of sleep. 

She did not really want to go to the cantina again tonight, but she was reluctant to use her final needle. 

She found her emergency bottle of claret, hidden under her bed. She pried off the wrapping on the neck and untwisted the cap. A twist-off cap wasn’t a great sign of quality, but she didn’t care about anything other than price and alcohol percentage. It’s not like she drank for pleasure: especially not right now. She didn’t even bother with a glass. She took the biggest swigs she could tolerate straight from the bottle, until her head began to feel a little heavier. It was definitely not an enjoyable drink, but it got the job done, and that’s what mattered. 

With that, she screwed the cap back on and rolled the bottle back under her bed. She crawled under her covers, facing her desk where Bao-Dur had worked a few days ago.. No, closer to a week ago now. There were still various electronics parts and tools scattered about it. She didn’t want to mess with any of his things. The light there was turned off, and the apartment was illuminated solely by the faint glow of the broken console. 

She wondered how much longer she’d have to wait for him. 

***

Not long, as it turned out. 

She was woken up rather abruptly in the middle of the night. It wasn’t unusual-- she often woke up suddenly after drinking, having gotten ill from having too much. But she didn’t think she’d had  _ that  _ much. She hoped not, at least. It’d be pretty unfortunate to have gotten drunk and not have even been awake for the majority of it. Her head was aching, but she didn’t feel nauseous, so she let her eyes flutter closed again, snuggling into her pillow. 

_ Knock-knock!  _

A loud thumping noise at her door. Was that what woke her up? She checked her datapad. It was about 4:00. She never got visitors of any sort, let alone so late (or early). Surely it could only be one person. 

She stumbled out of bed, rushing to the turn on the desk lamp. Should she change? No, there wasn’t time for that. She hated to show  _ any  _ skin at all, and it was terribly embarrassing to be seen in her sleepwear, but she had no choice. Anyway, her excitement was way stronger than her shyness. Her heart pounding against her chest, she slammed the release button for the door. It slid open, and sure enough, she saw her friend there. 

“Hey, you,” his cadence was the same as ever. 

Pakra seized Bao-Dur’s wrist and yanked him through the doorway. 

“H-hey--!” 

After stumbling inside, Pakra slammed the door, and turned to him. Before he had any time to react, her arms were already wrapped around his waist. She buried her face into his chest, squeezing him as tightly as possible in silence. After a few moments, she felt his hands rest on her shoulders. He didn’t really hug her back, but he wasn’t pushing her away. It was simply an acknowledgement of her affection. Still pressed against him, she could almost hear his heartbeat. 

She slowly drew away from him, her palms dragging down his back and over his sides. She’d never touched him this way before.. He was surprisingly sturdy for someone who always seemed to be hunched over a workbench, although she imagined there was probably a fair deal of heavy lifting involved. Not like she knew what he did in his free time, either. Even so.. there was a soft quality about him. She would’ve liked nothing more than to explore him further. 

“Pakra..” 

She felt the force on her shoulders push her a little further away. She’d only then realized that her hands had been resting on his waist for a few seconds too long, and that she’d probably been staring at his body. 

“S-sorry!” she recoiled from him as quickly as she’d first accosted him. “I, um.. I’m sorry. Was that.. too far..?” 

The latter end was pretty strange, but the concept she’d been going for wasn’t necessarily bad. 

“Just give me a warning next time, okay?”   
“S-sorry..” 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll just consider us even,” he smiled. 

“You never hugged me..” 

“I think it was pretty close.” 

“It was not even...” she felt obligated to argue that being borderline abducted from behind, silenced, and dragged away against her will was  _ not  _ comparable to a hug, but it didn’t matter. She would rather focus on what was happening right now. 

“I really missed you.” 

He was hoping to move away from the sentimentality, but she was determined to stay there. He was going to try to divert their focus again, but that was made impossible upon seeing tears filling up in Pakra’s eyes. She sniffled as she brought up her sleeves, pawing at her face as a couple tears spilled down her cheeks. 

“That’s not..” he was going to tell her,  _ that’s not necessary,  _ but stopped himself for fear of sounding dismissive. “Are you alright?” 

Pakra nodded, forcing a smile. “I was just really worried..” 

“You shouldn’t worry about me..” Bao-Dur really would’ve preferred if Pakra was as thoughtful with herself as she was with him. He was aware that the complete communications blackout was probably her doing, and he was not particularly happy about that. But now, her reaction to seeing him made him hesitant. He didn’t want to further upset her, even if she really fucked things up. 

“..I would have been back sooner, had you not shut down the whole station.” he whispered. It was the gentlest he could be while still redirecting the conversation to what he’d intended to speak to her about. Pakra shrank back at those words, her face turning pinker. “How did you even manage that?” 

“Um.. I kinda.. forgot how to sever the matrix..” she gave him a sheepish smile. “So.. uh.. I just.. destroyed all of it..” 

She watched his eyes close, followed by an exasperated sigh. 

“Disabling the entire station’s telemetry was.. Suboptimal, to put it lightly.” he didn’t sound much different from usual, but Pakra nonetheless recognized that she was being scolded right now. “It sounds like you caused a lot of problems..” 

“S-sorry..” 

“Please try to be more careful in the future, alright?” 

She nodded. She hadn’t even meant to cry, but she had a feeling that it’d helped her get off easy. 

“What did you find on the surface..?” 

Bao-Dur tensed slightly. 

“We can talk about it tomorrow.. I think we both would rather get to sleep.” 

She didn’t know why that was necessary, but she wasn’t going to argue. It was four in the morning, after all. 

“Ah.. if you’re sure, then..” 

“Is it still okay if I stayed here?” 

“Y-yeah! Of course!” beyond okay, Pakra would’ve insisted he stay had he even suggested otherwise. 

It felt a little awkward to go to bed at the same time. Up to this point, she’d always gone to bed before him. They’d never been conscious at the same time while in bed.. The whole thing was a little uncomfortably intimate for Pakra.. and she thought he might’ve felt the same way. She slinked back under the blankets, watching him as she did so. He stood at his side of the bed, turned away from her as his hands found the hem of his shirt. He glanced over his shoulder, momentarily making eye contact before both of them hastily looked away from each other. When she looked again, his shirt was gone, although he kept his undershirt on. Otherwise, he stayed in his normal clothes, as usual-- Pakra, having been woken up unexpectedly, did not have that option. She again felt embarrassed to be seen in her sleepwear, which exposed most of her shapelessly thin legs. 

He sat on the edge of the bed and brought his natural hand to the base of his cybernetic arm. After a few moments of fiddling with the machinery there, the energy charge was disabled. 

“Ah!” Pakra exclaimed without thinking upon seeing it. She’d never noticed it before. “You can just.. Turn off your arm?” 

“Yes.. It’s not like I’ll be using it while I’m asleep.” 

“Doesn’t that feel strange..?” 

“Not anymore.” 

He placed the cybernetic hand on the nightstand. It was extremely odd to Pakra. Of course, she was aware that he was missing his left arm. That much was obvious by merely looking. But the cybernetic’s presence meant that she often forgot about it when interacting with him. It was just part of him. 

“Can I ask you something..?” she squeaked as he settled next to her. 

“You can try.” 

“Can you feel things with your repulsor arm?” 

“Kind of.. In a binary sort of way. I can sense damage and basic stimulus, but that’s all.” 

“I see..” she guessed that was better than feeling nothing, but still.. It made her a little sad. 

“It’s possible to fine-tune tactile sensors, but I’ve never bothered with it. It loses significance when you know all the algorithms and coding behind it.” 

She wasn’t sure if she understood, but she accepted that he didn’t seem very disappointed with his loss. 

Neither of them had very much else to say. It was certainly not a time that anyone should be awake at, so it was reasonable to try getting to sleep right away. And Pakra had no idea what Bao-Dur had been up to for the past week, but she imagined that whatever it was, it wasn’t the most relaxing thing in the world. That said, she now very badly wanted to talk to him, but knew he’d probably prefer to get some sleep. The next best thing was probably to just look at him, but she’d already gotten in trouble for staring at him before. Anyway.. it sounded a little creepy when she thought about just staring at him while he slept. 

She let her eyes close again, but her mind was still busy. She thought about all of what Ramana had said. She thought about her fantasies about him. She wondered: was it really impossible for them to be together? A part of her said that she shouldn’t even entertain that question, but she couldn’t ignore the strength of her emotions. It would definitely be difficult for her to deal with being apart for extended periods, but she’d technically made it through the past week.. If she was going to suffer through that anyway, then did it make much a difference whether they were platonic or something more? And.. should she really make decisions about her own happiness based on the prejudices of others? She didn’t care that Bao-Dur was a Zabrak. She didn’t care that she was a Twi’lek. It didn’t matter to her, so why should she let it hold her back? 

It was a lot to think about, and it would take more than just tonight to work through all of it. She didn’t know the answers yet, but what she did know that right now, all she wanted was to be closer to him. 

“Are you awake..?” 

“Hm?” he sounded only half-awake, but that was sufficient for her. 

“C-can I..hug you?” 

“Thanks for asking,” he mumbled. He was definitely half-asleep. “Yeah, sure..” 

Was it fair to touch him if he was barely conscious? He said yes either way, so she was going for it. She positioned herself between his body and his arm, cozied up right against his side, nuzzling her face into him. She brought her arm around his waist holding him as tightly as she could. At this, Bao-Dur was now completely awake, and only then fully processed what she’d asked him. This was.. very close. Too close. Her leg was just barely curled over him, grazing his hips, making her embrace push the boundary between romantic and sexual. He halfway thought he should retract his permission, but looking down at her.. she had a giddy smile and a heavy blush staining her face. She looked.. really happy. He couldn’t just push her away now. 

He brought his hand to her shoulder, petting her gently. That was the most he was willing to reciprocate right now. But Pakra was emboldened by even that small gesture. 

“Um.. C-can you.. put your other arm around me..?” she squeezed him tightly again, and he could feel her warm face pressed against him. 

“..No. I can’t.” 

She whimpered, shrinking back at his rejection. Her gaze drifted upwards to him and met his eyes, and only then did she understand, as she saw the expression of a person who was thinking,  _ I don’t have that fucking arm.  _

“A-ah! I’m sorry! I wasn’t thinking.. ah..” she stuttered, now extremely embarrassed for an entirely new reason. Bao-Dur just patted her. 

“You’re really something..” 

She felt terribly silly, but he didn’t seem mad at her. As far as her silliness went, she’d done much worse. This was basically par for the course, so he wasn’t really surprised. 

His arm around her, she gradually felt her eyelids become heavy again, and she drifted back into a dreamless sleep. 


	15. Chapter 15

Pakra woke up before him, still cuddled up at his side. The lighting suggested that it was well into the morning by now, but it hardly mattered to her. She wasn’t scheduled today, and right now, she didn’t care about anything other than being with him. Staring at his profile, the only noise in the room is his muted breathing, giving Pakra’s mind plenty of opportunity to wander. The questions which had arisen again last night almost returned, but she didn’t want to ruin this moment. 

She wanted to feel his horns again.. It was probably okay. After all, they were cuddled up together all night, and she’d touched them before. Her arm was still around him, concealed by the covers. She dragged it up with the intention of bringing it to his face, but accidentally tugged his shirt up at the same time. The fabric moved under her wrists, and the thought made her heartbeat quicken. She couldn’t see anything with the blankets in the way. She wondered if she could move them without waking him.. It was worth a shot. 

She’d already recognized that this was an invasion of privacy, but her curiosity was stronger than her convictions right now. She gently kicked her feet, wiggling and pulling the blankets downwards as best she could. It was a little awkward-- it might’ve been easier to just use her hand, but she didn’t have very far to move it, anyway. Slowly, the covers inched off of them, until she could see his body. 

Her hand must’ve drifted downward in her sleep. She hadn’t noticed before, since it’d been covered up. It was now about at his waist, so it was probably around his hip bone before she’d moved it. The thought of having touched him there normally would’ve been enough to rush blood to her face, but she was distracted at the moment. Surely enough, she was correct in her perception of what she’d done under the covers: her arm had pulled up the hem, and she could now see his exposed midriff. 

She could practically hear her heartbeat at this point. She was overcome by her instincts, telling that she needed him _right now._ She was dying to run her fingertips over his tawny-grey flesh. She wanted to trace every edge of his body, following the outline of his navel down to the trail of dark hairs that led into even more forbidden areas. How lovely it would have been to taste his warm, salty skin. 

Of course, she couldn’t do any of that. 

She squeezed her thighs together, hips twitching, body yearning for what she couldn’t have. It took a tremendous amount of effort, but she knew that she had to stop. She would only get more frustrated if she kept fantasizing about it. Besides, she felt she’d been staring at his body for an uncomfortably long time.. Not that it would have mattered much to him. 

..Right?

At that thought, her eyes darted up to his. 

_Oh, thank the gods.._

She breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He was still asleep. 

Now focused back on his face, she brought her hand up to his temple, stroking the horn there. Could he feel this? She didn’t know, but she continued either way. She noticed a jagged edge towards the tip. Was it like that naturally, or did it get chipped? The horns were part of his skull, right? How hard would he have to have been hit for it to chip? And.. how bad would that have hurt? Well, she’d already found out that Zabraks didn’t shirk away from pain. She moved back down the horn’s shaft, following the line of the tattoo that started at its base. She didn’t get very far before he winced and his eyes flitted open. Upon seeing that it was just Pakra messing with him again, his eyes closed. 

“ ‘Just don’t touch me,’ she said,” he mumbled while stretching. She felt a little bad to have woken him, given how little sleep he seemed to get. But he didn’t look too annoyed, in spite of his snarky remark. Actually, he looked fairly content, and a subdued but genuine smile had risen to his face. 

“Sorry..”

“I’m not mad.. it is a little strange, though.” 

“S-should I not do it, then?” 

“It’s not like you haven’t done it before,” he shrugged. “Just don’t touch me in any weird places,” he added in a whisper. 

“I-I would not!” she lied.

“I’ll hold you to that, then.” 

Waking up together was not nearly as awkward as going to sleep together. On the contrary, what they were doing now was very reminiscent of pillow talk, but obviously, without the associated prerequisite. Her eyes thoughtlessly drifted back downwards to the exposed skin of his midsection upon the thought, and his gaze followed her. Noticing it for the first time, he tugged at the hem of his shirt with his thumb, shifting a bit uncomfortably. 

“We should probably get up soon,” he noted, motioning for her to move off of him. 

“We don’t _have_ to though, right..?” Pakra met him with the most innocent, puppy-dog eyes she could make. 

“We need to discuss next steps about Czerka..” 

“Y-yeah, but..” she nuzzled his side. “We can do that here, right?” 

He smiled, but Pakra didn’t like it. It didn’t really match the playful mood that they were in a few moments prior, and which she was still in. He looked terribly sympathetic, almost bordering on remorseful, and she couldn’t understand why. 

“C’mon. Up.” He patted her again, and this time she complied, reluctantly separating from him. She was disappointed, but he no longer seemed in the mood to dispute it. 

While he showered and dressed, Pakra ventured out into the commons of her apartment complex. There was a vending machine where the majority of her meals were sourced from, in addition to her stimcaf. Though most of Citadel Station’s occupants were humans, there was still a large enough proportion of aliens on the planet that their tastes were catered to. Humans tended to prefer their stimcaf either plain or with sugar and milk, and those variants were present. For the aliens, there were kinds that had various fruit, vegetable, or even meat flavorings, while others were thickened with coagulants. She had no idea what Bao-Dur liked.. she guessed and chose one mixed with pig’s blood for him, and bought a lightly-sweetened tobacco flavor for herself. 

Returning to her room, she found he’d already finished, and was waiting at her desk. She held out the can of blood-caf to him. 

“Sorry.. I wasn’t sure what to get.” 

“Oh! No, this is perfect.. Thank you.” he smiled, popping open the tab. She settled down next to him, and he tilted his head to read her bottle. “..Sweetened tobacco, huh?” 

“L-lightly sweetened! I don’t like it too sweet..” 

He shrugged. “It makes no difference to me..” 

“Not picky, I presume?” she smiled. He didn’t seem the type to be too demanding. 

“Zabraks can’t taste sugar.” 

“What?!” he’d said it flatly, without any hint of disappointment, but somehow that only affected Pakra more. “Ah.. that makes me kinda sad, Bao-Dur..” 

“I’ve made it this far. I don’t think I’m missing out on much.”

“That’s what you say, but.. you have no idea..” she supposed that as obligate carnivores, their natural diet probably didn’t have much in the way of sweet things. 

They sipped on their caf in silence for a few moments before Bao-Dur jumped into business. 

“So, what with the.. ‘incident’ that you caused here,” he started, eliciting embarrassment from Pakra once again. “As it turns out.. It was useful insofar as avoiding detection. So.. thanks for that, at least,” he smiled. Right: if Pakra had _only_ cut the Czerka line, then it would be obvious upon investigation that someone was specifically targeting them. But, since she’d cut _all_ of the lines, that wasn’t the case. The idea of disabling the entire communications matrix would be hugely inconveniencing for anyone on Citadel Station, so it was hard to imagine that anyone who operated there would willingly do it just to destroy a single line. So, Pakra’s decision was so unthinkably stupid that it was actually beneficial to both of them, even if she’d caused herself, and nearly everyone else on the station, a lot of grief by doing so. It did make her wonder who exactly they suspected of the crime. It was way too difficult for just any troublemaker to go through with-- there were much easier ways for delinquents to cause a ruckus. So, a terrorist of some sort? Maybe an anti-Republic one? That might cause some security issues in the future, but she’d worry about those if and when she came to them. 

“Did things go alright on the surface too, then..?” 

His eyebrows furrowed at the question. “They would have, had I been there for a shorter period..” he sighed. “Unfortunately, I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter,” he smiled, but his voice was practically a hiss. Pakra instinctively averted her gaze. “I was detected on the third or fourth day.. Luckily, their communications were still down, too.” 

He stopped there, as if that was all there was to say. Pakra stared at him, waiting for him to continue, but he did not. He didn’t even look like he was contemplating how to recall it: as if the rest of the story was self-explanatory. She grew anxious as each second passed without explanation, particularly as the most obvious answer rose to her mind. 

“What… what did you do, then..?” 

Only now did he appear pensive. Indeed, Bao-Dur wasn’t sure what to tell her. Her tone suggested that she’d already figured it out in some fashion, but she either wanted confirmation, or an alternative explanation. He could just lie to her, but there was always the possibility that she’d find out about it, and then she wouldn’t trust him. Anyways, he didn’t really like lying unless absolutely necessary. It didn’t serve any tactical purpose here, and it was something she’d have to come to terms with eventually. 

“I was able to rig one of their terminals to self-destruct. It was more than sufficient,” he stated with cold objectivity. “If they investigated it thoroughly, they’d find out it wasn’t an accident, but I don’t think that’ll happen. There was a lot of military weaponry in the vicinity, so it wouldn’t be implausible that they’d accidentally set something off.” 

“There’re dead? You.. you k-killed them..?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You..” she could feel her throat tightening, anger building up in her stomach. “Y-you said you wouldn’t.. that nobody would die..” 

“No. I said I’d try to avoid it,” he corrected her. “I didn’t have a choice.” 

She’d initially been angry with him, but that statement made her reconsider. The warm anger in her belly turned to nausea as she was overwhelmed with guilt. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. Neither of them were entirely sure who she was apologizing to, but she felt the need to say it. “They were innocent, and..” 

Bao-Dur realized she was now angry at herself, not him. Part of him thought she should be angry with herself for doing something so drastic, but he also felt the need to object to her moral framing of the situation.. and.. He didn’t want her to be upset. 

“Pakra, they weren’t innocents,” he spoke with gentle firmness. “They’re doing unspeakable damage to Telos.” 

“B-but.. They’re not the corporation itself..” she stammered, now almost determined to make herself suffer. They’d had this conversation before, regarding the complicity of Czerka employees. 

“They aren’t rank-and-file, else I’d be more sympathetic,” he tried to avoid placing blame on all Czerka workers this time, trying to be understanding of Pakra’s viewpoint. “These are people who are instrumental to the corporation. They have other options, and they chose this.” 

Pakra thought about it. She didn’t know if that was true-- certainly, individual lives are complex. She had no idea what any of those Czerka scouts’ lives were like. But he was probably correct in saying that these were much higher-level employees who could have chosen more ethical work.. at the very least, something that wasn’t killing an entire planet. 

“I..” she still didn’t know what to think, and she considered arguing the point more. But she didn’t really want to. Bao-Dur just watched her, patiently waiting for her to work through whatever she had to. Ultimately, she just decided to move on. Right now, they still had more to discuss. 

“You mentioned military weapons?” 

Bao-Dur nodded tentatively. He thought she had more to say on the previous subject, but he wasn’t going to push it. 

“Yes.. they’ve already found an abandoned Republic outpost..” he knew they’d find one eventually, but he was not expecting it so soon. Keeping them out was crucial, but it wouldn’t be easy. “Taking out the scouts will slow them down, but I don’t know how long it’ll last.. They weren’t able to get inside the bunker. It looked like they needed a slicer to get inside.” It was certainly frustrating for him. Planting bugs and investigating the surface felt like productive offensive actions, but as it was, there was little they could do except wait for them to take further action. They were now relegated to defensive actions. 

“So.. we’re just waiting, now..” 

Neither of them were particularly happy about it, it seemed. 

“Obviously, we’ll have to retaliate against any further attempts to break into the military compound, but what that will entail remains to be seen..” 

“What do we do for now?” 

He popped an earpiece in and handed one out to Pakra. 

“About all we can do.” 

She took it, reluctantly. She found it terribly boring to listen to bits and pieces of conversations. It would be one thing if it was anything even remotely interesting, but most of it was in regards to the finances of the corporation, fulfilling orders of clients, and so on. Things that the Czerka workers themselves probably didn’t even care much about. It didn’t help that she had to hold the earpiece constantly, since she didn’t have a typical humanoid earshape. For most of the day, they alternated between the three bugs, trying to pick up on anything that might be even vaguely useful. Pakra enjoyed listening to the bug in Lorso’s office the most by far. The majority of her conversation topics were similarly boring, but as a higher-up, she was not expected to ass-kiss like the lower-level employees. She frequently got quite spicy, and it did help keep things entertaining. 

“Hey, Bao-Dur..?” 

He silently turned to her, eyebrows raised to indicate his acknowledgement. Evening would be here before long, indicated by the orange tint of the sunlight synthesizer at the window. 

“Uh.. would you care if I drank during the rest of this?” 

“What? Is this not exciting to you?” he scoffed, dry as usual. 

“Leaves something to be desired..” 

He smiled. “Go for it.” 

He hadn’t thought too much of it at first-- Pakra couldn’t have been older than her early twenties, or hell, maybe even her late teens, and he remembered finding any opportunity to drink at that age. What he wasn’t expecting to see was the five-foot-three Twi’lek obtain a bottle of claret from under her bed, pop off the top, and take several consecutive swigs straight from it, holding the bottle by its neck. 

“Wow..” he muttered to himself. Pakra heard and turned to him, tilting her head inquisitively. 

“You really live this way?” 

“H-hey! This is my apartment, and my claret,” she pouted. 

He sighed, almost looking concerned for her well-being, but he said nothing. She held the bottle out to him. He hesitated-- he didn’t really drink much anymore. Not that he didn’t like it, or that he had a problem with it per se, it just.. reminded him of some not-so-great times. But, he had to admit that this would be more tolerable with alcohol. 

He took the bottle, eyes moving between it and the girl. “Do I have to drink it straight from the bottle?” 

“I-I don’t have cups..” 

“Truly incredible,” he sighed again. He took a single swig. It was not high-quality, but frankly, it was better than he was expecting, given everything he’d witnessed leading up to it. “By the way, how’re you doing?” 

“Huh? I’m fine..” 

“Alright.. Just making sure.” 

“W-wait, are you making fun of me..?” 

“Just checking in, Pakra.” 

“You _are_ making fun of me _,_ ” she huffed, settling back down. He didn’t look at her, but she saw him smiling, anyway. She acted annoyed, and sometimes she really was, but as a whole.. she liked his teasing. 

They passed the bottle back and forth a few times before the Czerka compound closed for the night. All in all, it wasn’t a very helpful listening session for them. But it was an excuse to drink, and she was with Bao-Dur, so she was happy. She took off her earpiece before collapsing onto her bed with inordinate exhaustion. Bao-Dur had the feeling she’d already had a little too much to drink: it was easy to do when drinking directly from the bottle. He stayed at the desk for the time being.. getting in bed with her might not be a great idea. 

“So.. how do you spend your nights?” he asked, shaking the thought from his mind. 

“You’re looking at it,” she mumbled into her blankets. 

“With friends, right?” 

“Not usually…” she sighed. “You’re the first visitor I’ve ever had.”

“I.. see..” he felt bad for her. She was certainly a skittish girl, and he doubted that under any other circumstances would they have gotten this close. But for as much pity as he felt, he was also worried about how invested she might’ve been in him. 

Pakra watched him approach, thinking he was going to settle in with her. Instead, he stopped at the nightstand, peering down at it momentarily. To her horror, he plucked the vial of giggledust that had been sitting there. 

“Do you use this alone, too?” he asked with an almost inappropriately casual, friendly inflection. Pakra had no clue how to interpret it. 

“I.. um..” of course he’d seen it. He put his cybernetic on the nightstand last night. Even if he hadn’t seen it at that very moment, it’s literally just sitting out in the open. 

“It’s not really my business,” he set it back down. “Maybe just don’t use it alone.” 

“A-are you.. offering to use it.. with me?” 

He shook his head. “I’m telling you not to make a bad habit. It’s the same with drinking alone.” 

“Oh.. I see.” she was already aware that it wasn’t healthy, and it never stopped her before. “Well, uh.. _would_ you use it with me?” 

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure about that,” he decided to sit down on her bed after all, although he kept a fair bit of distance between them. 

“I’m a great sitter for first-timers,” she smiled, oddly proud. 

“I’ve used spice before, Pakra.” 

“What? Really?” her ears perked up. She was instantly intrigued. 

“Surprised?” 

“Er.. um.. yeah, actually..” she couldn’t imagine him using _any_ kind of spice. She’d always had a rather relaxed attitude about it, having used various kinds for most of her young life. The same with her friends, and most people from her homeworld. Even if they didn’t use it themselves, its consumption was so commonplace that discussing spice use was casual enough for even polite conversation. But she was aware that there was a major stigma around it elsewhere. She didn’t know if it was a touchy subject for him. Then again, he did bring it up.. 

“What have you used?” 

“Yarrock.” 

“Yarrock..” Pakra thought about it. She knew about yarrock: it was a spice variety native to Iridonia, and it was well known for its hallucinogenic properties. She’d never tried it, though. It wasn’t exactly expensive, but getting your hands on it was a little tricky. Iridonia was a very unstable planet, and depending on the political climate both locally and intergalactically, trade with them could easily be disrupted or even halted altogether. Thus, yarrock would appear in waves, showing up in short bursts, only to disappear for months, or even years thereafter. 

“Was yarrock used a lot by Iridonians..?” 

“It depends.. they made you take it before battles, or prior to some duels, depending on the circumstances.” 

“They _made_ you take it _?_ ” The prospect of being forced to take spice was borderline horrific: she’d heard stories of people who were given barely sub-lethal doses of spice as punishment for delayed payments or other infractions. 

A legitimate question, but it was difficult to explain to someone who, apparently, knew very little about the cultural practices on Iridonia. Taking a very strong hallucinogen prior to fights seemed normal to Bao-Dur, but he knew this was only because of his background. He’d talked about it before. He knew that off-world, most people considered that idea to be batshit insane. 

“It was supposed to make you a stronger fighter.. or less afraid, or some mix of the two.” 

“Did it work?” 

“Not really..” he mused. “It messes with your perception and inhibitions, so.. I guess in a sense, maybe. I heard about a fair number of people wigging out on it, though.” 

“Did you like it..?” 

“Whenever I took it, it was under duress and I was moments away from fighting for my life. So, no,” he laid back, stretching a bit. “I know off-worlders love it, though. I imagine it’s better in different circumstances.” 

“Iridonia sounds..” she trailed off as he glanced at her. In her intoxication, she almost said ‘weird,’ but his gaze stopped her. “It sounds.. uh.. interesting..” better, but not great. It might’ve been better to have not said anything. 

“It’s just home to me.” 

Something about the statement.. Made her sentimental. She thought of Nar Shaddaa.. Was that her home? She’d been desperate to get away from it. People don’t flee from their homes-- not willingly, anyway. But she didn’t know if this was home, either. It was almost something like that when Bao-Dur was here, but he was not a constant. He had to leave eventually. 

She could feel her eyes getting wetter. She had to stop. 

“I.. guess I just don’t know very much.. about Iridonia, I mean.” 

“Well, I’m here to answer all of your invasive questions.” 

She didn’t know if he was teasing or being passive-aggressive until he smiled at her. She giggled a little nervously. She didn’t really have anything in specific to ask. She’d need to have some familiarity with Iridonia or Iridonians before she could have questions. 

Wait.. she did have familiarity with Iridonians.. Well, one of them, at least. 

Her thoughts drifted back to last night.. when she’d hugged him. In that moment, she could almost feel his heartbeat against her face, and she remembered something she’d heard about Zabraks when she was younger. That might actually be invasive, though.. 

Her bottle of claret was still between her palms. She took another swig of it, hoping that he wouldn’t notice the trembling in her voice when she spoke. 

“U-um..” her eyes drifted downwards to his chest. “Is it true that Irido-- er, Zabraks, have two hearts?” 

“I haven’t had the chance to open myself up and check.” 

She puffed her cheeks a little, pouting at his irreverence. 

“Yes, we do. Is it true that Twi’leks have multiple stomachs?” 

Pakra’s hand subconsciously found her own belly, withdrawing inward slightly. “Mmhm.. one for savories and one for sweets.” 

“And one for alcohol?” 

She pouted again, this time a little embarrassed. “They’re drinks! They’re not filling!” 

“I’m just teasing you, Pakra.” he whispered. The satisfaction of his expression only further embarrassed her, as if her defensiveness was exactly the reaction he’d been hoping for. 

“You’re the worst..” 

“That’s what I’m told.” 

A natural lull followed, the room silent except the soft humming of the air purifier. She’d become mostly comfortable with the silences between the two of them, accepting that the air did not constantly need to be filled. But right now, there was something she wanted to say, if only she could force the words out. She took another generous sip of her claret, the cheap alcohol burning her tongue as she hurried to swallow it. 

“Um.. Bao-Dur?” 

He glanced over to her, same vague smile as always. 

“Can I.. listen? To your hearts?” 

“Will you let me listen to your stomachs gurgling afterwards?” 

“Ugh!” she could feel her embarrassment coming back ten-fold, this time manifesting in an obvious flush across her face. “I’m s-serious!” 

“Alright.” he motioned for the bottle, and Pakra carefully handed it over. He took another sip from it before setting it aside. “Go for it.” 

That was permission, then..? He was looking at her like he was expecting her to do.. something. She hadn’t thought this far ahead. 

She cuddled up between his arm and his side as she had last night, coming as close as she could without actually touching him; not that it mattered, since she would have to touch him to listen anyway. Tentatively, she set her head on him, center-right of his chest. She brought her hand up as well, just a little further to the left of where her face rested. Closing her eyes, she focused all of her attention on her hearing and touch. She could feel the rise and fall of his lungs… she could feel his breath against her.

…

Sure enough, after a few moments, she identified his heartbeat. It was actually a little dimmer on the right side, despite the left having only her hand to find it. Maybe they weren’t anatomically identical hearts? It was possible that the right heart could have been an auxiliary heart of sorts.. not that she knew much about anatomy to speculate how that would work, though. 

Her layman’s theorizing was interrupted by a light touch against her back. Barely perceptible at first, it escalated into a fingertip running down her spine, the rest of his hand gradually following, moving down and over to her side, resting in the smallest part of her waist. Before she even had time to consider an appropriate response, she felt his other hand at her right lekku, fingers barely grazing it as he moved down its length. In spite of her best efforts to contain herself, her careful exhalation became audibly ragged as his fingers felt the tip of her head-tail. 

He had wanted to give her attention she wanted the previous night, when she asked for both of his hands to be on her. That’s what he’d done, but perhaps choosing her lekku was a bad idea, considering the reaction that’d garnered from her in the past. 

She could feel his heartbeat quicken.

Where this went depended on her. Her face still pressed against his chest, she felt her own heart start to race as she fretted over what to do. Her self-doubt made this situation all too frightening. The panic was setting in. Should she go further? And if she did, what would that mean for them? How would that affect their relationship? What would people think? Would they have to hide it? 

_Breathe, Pakra._

She inhales: _five, four, three.._ Holds in: _Six, five four.._ Exhales.. 

_Now: what do_ **_you_ ** _want?_

She brought her head up, just a few inches from his face. She knew she couldn’t take her time. The longer she waited, the more doubt would grow in her chest, and the harder it would be to breathe. She had to do it _now._

She seized his shoulders, leaned in, and pressed her lips to his: still a little too passive, but it was a kiss, nonetheless. The hold on her waist flinched, separating from her before very lightly resting on her upper arm. Once she’d kissed him, she’d broken the barrier. She could do it again, and she did. 

She wanted so badly to be closer, and she’d find a way. No longer satisfied with being next to him, she found herself on top of him, straddling him in a way that could hardly be viewed in the same ambiguously romantic fashion as their previous interactions. She ran her hands up the back of his head, pulling him in deeper as her fingers weaved around his horns. 

“Mmh..” 

Almost inaudible, she heard him whimper. It was the same noise he’d made in his sleep, on that morning she stroked his face. What was it about that sound that caused such a reaction in her? Its tone and timbre were clearly that of Bao-Dur, but it felt vulnerable. He felt so constantly on-guard. He meticulously chose his words, policed his body language and expressions, and kept unnecessary personal opinions and experiences to himself. It all served to project a certain image of himself. She didn’t know why he was like this. It could’ve been that he was simply a private, reserved person. That was probably at least partially true. But there were many introverts in the world, and they didn’t self-regulate to such an extreme degree. She didn’t know why he did it, or what he was trying to protect himself, or others, from. Whatever it was didn’t matter-- she wanted to tear down that wall between them. 

She pulled away momentarily to catch her breath, her heart thumping uncontrollably by now. Her hands moved down him, coming to rest on his waist. She leaned back in, this time to kiss his neck, her fingers very slowly working the fabric of his shirt up, until she was able to grasp the hem. She started sliding a hand under it, feeling a shiver run through him as her fingertips grazed his skin. 

“S..stop..” 

She broke away from his neck, hand still up his shirt. “What..?” 

“Stop. Please stop,” he took the opportunity for his cybernetic hand to find her arm, gently pushing her off of her as he sat up. 

His face was flushed, and even at the increased distance, she could hear his breathing was laboured. She didn’t know why he’d cut her off. She waited there, where he’d set her, for him to say something. 

“Don’t do that again.” 

Why did he wait so long to push her away? Had he meant to do it earlier, but was reluctant for some reason? She hated the idea that she might have forced him into a situation he didn’t want to be in. But was that really the case? His movements were stifled, for sure, but he’d kissed her back. Did he just feel obligated to? 

She inched her body closer, reaching out to his hand. He instinctively tensed and almost recoiled from her. She pulled back in turn. 

“Do you not.. feel anything for me..?” Pakra’s sudden burst of confidence withered as she waited for his answer. 

“Feelings don’t have much to do with it.” 

“I don’t understand..” she couldn’t possibly have understood, because Bao-Dur had purposefully kept much of himself from her. He wasn’t about to spill his guts now. 

He sighed, already anticipating how this was going to go. “It’s just not a good idea. For either of us.” 

It wasn’t a lie, but it was still evasive. He was clearly keeping something from her. What it was, Pakra couldn’t have ever guessed, but what she _did_ know was that she still wanted to be with him, and his words were unclear enough that she almost believed that he wanted that, too. She wanted to tear down that wall between them, right now. She wanted to show him that he didn’t have to be afraid of being close to her. That whatever it was, they could work through it, together. 

“Bao-Dur, I really--” 

“ _No._ ” 

Regardless of his affections or lack thereof, there was no ambiguity in that voice. He was resolute. This was a non-negotiable matter. Pakra was stung by it, her hands withdrawing from him. She searched for something, anything, to make this better, but could find nothing. 

Neither of them knew what to say. For the first time in a long time, the silence between them felt awkward and oppressive. Each second that passed only became more unbearable, but there was still nothing that could be said. Both of them had been drinking, but Bao-Dur felt sober enough to head out safely. 

“I think I ought to stay at the Ithorian Compound tonight..” 

“What?!” Pakra immediately exclaimed. “No!” 

“Yes.” Bao-Dur began gathering up a few of his things, as well as one of the earpieces and receptors for the Czerka bugs. He wasn’t going to argue with her, but he was absolutely leaving. She couldn’t stop him, and both of them were well aware of that fact. “You can come visit in the morning, if you wish.” 

“I.. don’t mind if you still stay here..” 

He shook his head. “This will be better for you in the long run.” 

She didn’t get it, of course. She didn’t have the experience to understand why that might be the case. She just watched him, feeling completely helpless and regretful. But she also didn’t have much to lose at this point. Perhaps it wouldn’t have felt so dissatisfying, if she at least understood why he was so reluctant to be closer to her. 

“You really can’t talk ab--” 

“ _I said no and that is enough, Pakra._ ” he snapped, voice quiet and breathy, but very far from its normally gentle tone. He turned to see her melty, flushed face. His rejection was more painful for her more than he would’ve liked, but he did think it was necessary to get the point across. He couldn’t let her believe that there was a chance for anything else. Even so, he didn’t want to make her suffer. He did care about her, even if their relationship could never be as intimate as she would like.

“I’m sorry,” he leaned in and gave a kiss on her face, just to the right of her mouth. She thought it was genuine, but restrained-- in spite of that, he lingered just a moment too long. It might’ve just made things worse for both of them. “Good night.”

She said nothing in return, but it didn’t change anything. He wouldn’t wait for her dismissal. 

She watched him leave. He didn’t turn back to her, or say anything else before he walked out. Even so, she held out on some tiny sliver of hope that he might change his mind and return. But he didn’t. 

Once she was convinced he wasn’t coming back, she prepped her final needle with sedatives. 


	16. Chapter 16

After the war and before coming to Telos, Bao-Dur drifted from planet to planet, trying to find something to occupy himself with. He usually ended up doing freelance work, and while not exactly glamorous, he was able to get by on it. Each planet had its own culture and practices for him to adjust to, and there was a definite excitement in discovering how every new world differed from the last. But while the terrains and the people changed, Bao-Dur was always the constant. He had no choice but to live and sleep as himself, so inevitably, he would fall into the habits that he could not part with. 

Once he found routine on a new planet, his mind would likewise find ample opportunity to wander. He didn’t want to think about what happened during the war, so he’d use anything he could to distract himself. He tried to find productive means of distraction that generally came in the form of work or personal projects, but on occasion, he’d do what countless others did to forget: go out to drink, and if he felt so inclined, go home with a woman. 

He wouldn’t have been interested in such casual interactions when he was younger, but now, it was far less complicated than the idea of a serious relationship. He didn’t have to worry about opening doors that he’d prefer to stay closed, and most of the time, his partners had no desire to open those doors, either. He got to enjoy the company of another person for a night without expectations or commitment. Infrequently, some friendships were formed with the women he spent the night with, although he was always careful not to imply the possibility for anything more. And, as a rule, he never pursued anything-- even casual-- with anyone he couldn’t easily detach himself from. That meant no colleagues, no roommates, or anything of the sort. It wasn’t worth the problems that it could very well cause. 

All of this was not to say that he never felt any deeper affections. Just about everyone was susceptible to developing those emotions, and he was no exception. Regardless of where he was, whether it be Coruscant, Kashyyyk, Sulon, Corellia, or elsewhere.. there were always amazing people. All of them were flawed, some more than others. But all of them were beautiful and deserved to be loved. Somehow, though, he was unable to extend that kindness to himself. In his mind, nobody was beyond redemption, except for him. Granted, he thought it safe to assume that none of those people had done anything close to the atrocities that he’d committed. 

Whenever he found himself becoming sentimental, he dealt with it the same as all his other complicated emotions: by distracting himself through any means necessary. Deny that it’s there to begin with, and never stop performing. 

***

He wasn’t actually sure if it’d be possible to get into the Ithorian Compound after-hours, but luckily, his information was still valid. The clicking of his boots reverberated throughout the dimly-lit compound as he found his way to the meeting room that he and Pakra had first discussed working together not long ago. As he’d expected, he didn’t encounter anyone in the scarcely-used room, nor elsewhere in the compound. He manually flipped the lights on full power and instantly regretted it, reflexively wincing before dimming them again. Despite having had an indeterminate amount of claret not long ago, he doubted he’d be able to get to sleep any time soon. No reason why he’d need to keep the lights on, though. 

There was little in the room, save for a few chairs, a table, and a filing cabinet that presumably housed miscellaneous files. Not a terribly comfortable place to sleep, but he’d had a lot worse. He was sincerely doubtful that anyone would come here, save for Pakra, but decided not to unpack his bugging equipment, just to be safe. Settling into one of the flimsy chairs, he folded his arms onto the desk, nuzzling his face into them. He had little to keep himself busy at the moment, so he figured he should at least try to get to sleep. But, as usual, his thoughts were simply too busy, and without anything to occupy himself, he couldn’t help but mull over what’d happened. 

Truthfully, he had no idea how he felt about her. She was unreasonably anxious and unsure of herself, but she was a sweet girl, if a bit silly and naive.. she had some interesting talents, too. There was probably more to her story on Nar Shaddaa, but he purposefully didn’t ask her about it. He didn’t want to make himself emotionally invested in her; and, she might then want to hear about his own history, and that simply wasn’t going to happen. In any case, he’d already decided that he would not allow himself to get attached. It wasn’t simply that he didn’t want it-- he’d made it clear to himself that it _definitely would not happen._ It was just impossible, so he forbade himself from entertaining anything else. 

Despite his efforts.. he had managed to form some kind of strange, romantic friendship with her. Just the other night, she cuddled up against him, his arm around her. She fell asleep just like that: her innocent face buried halfway in his side, a light blush across her cheeks. A small smile made him believe she’d been dreaming about something good for once, or.. maybe she was just happy to be there with him, even in her subconscious. The short lekku that framed her face curved just over her shoulder, and naturally, he followed the curves of her body downwards, as far as the covers would allow. Of course, he’d seen her body before, but he’d never really taken the time to really explore her. He never allowed himself to. Even in that moment, he knew he would be better off looking away and getting to sleep, but it was hard to ignore her when she was pressed up against him. 

She was a little thin, and didn’t have much in the way of a bust, nor did she look very sturdy. She was actually somewhat sickly-looking, accentuated by the powdery-blue hue of her skin. Her lower half had a bit more weight, with a soft curve to her hips, and deep flesh on her thighs. In her sleep, her legs would occasionally squeeze against him and her hands would clutch at his waist. When he’d noticed it, he wondered what kind of dream might be playing out in her head. 

Now he wondered if she’d been thinking of him. Even if nothing could come of it, it was nice to be wanted. 

He closed his eyes and tried to imagine her sleeping form as he’d seen it. In his mind, he was able to run his hand over her body, squeezing the thick flesh of her thighs. She’d wake up, at first a little dazed and miffed from the disturbance. But when she realized it was him, her face would soften and she’d reach out, wordlessly asking to be taken. 

He wondered how it’d feel to lick her lekku. When he just touched them, she looked nervous and excited-- what kind of expression would she make if he dragged his tongue down it? Maybe he’d even bite it, just a tiny bit. She’d yelp, both from arousal and pain, pulling him in closer. His face burned as he thought of how her little whines and whimpers would sound. She would be so much fun to toy with..

 _It’ll never happen._ He shook that fantasy from his mind before it got out of hand. 

There were just too many factors in play that would make entertaining those romantic notions a bad idea, hence why he tried to shut down her advancements whenever possible. Most of those factors weren’t her fault. But even if he were to ignore all of the external factors of why they couldn’t be together-- being different species, their work together on the Czerka project-- it would still be impossible, for reasons she’d never know. She couldn’t have possibly understood everything when he’d purposefully kept much of himself from her. That was the fundamental reason why they couldn’t be together. She wanted the image he’d constructed of himself rather than who he actually was. If she were to ever find out who he really was, then she’d realize that he’s an absolute monster. 

So, as much as his distance might upset her, it was in both of their best interests. Letting themselves get too close would hurt both of them much more in the long run. 

He repeated those words to himself through the night until that abnormal, distorted sheep-counting lulled him to sleep. 

***

For a few minutes after waking, Pakra could not recall what had happened the night before. She laid under her covers, rubbing her feet together in a futile attempt to warm herself as she tried to retrace what’d happened. Bao-Dur was here yesterday, but he wasn’t here now. While they were working, she’d started drinking.. She continued after Czerka closed.. And she kissed him. He rejected her, and left for the night. She took her sedatives after that. She remembered nothing past that. 

It wasn’t surprising that she felt like death itself, then. Her gaze was sluggish, and simply trying to look around her room made her dizzy. The last thing she wanted to do was stand up-- it could only get worse from there. But the light in her room suggested that morning had already come some time ago. She couldn’t remember where Bao-Dur said he was going, or if he’d specified at all, but she figured there was only one place he’d go. There was initially some doubt as to whether she should actually go. She didn’t remember all of the particulars of the previous night, but she did remember that it felt incredibly unpleasant and awkward. Perhaps he didn’t want to see her after that? 

..no, that wasn’t likely. Well, maybe he didn’t exactly want to see her on a personal level, but she thought she ought to go. After all, they were still working together on the Czerka problem. He always viewed their connection as primarily a conspiratorial one, right? They were essentially colleagues. She was the one who was constantly trying to push beyond that. He’d been upfront about that nearly from the beginning: he’d said, “I don’t want to make things complicated.” Pakra figured that this was exactly what he wanted to prevent from happening. 

… 

_You’re so stupid, Pakra._

She threw off her covers, which almost immediately made her feel a bit better: she’d fallen asleep in several layers of clothing, and she must’ve overheated during her sleep, even if she felt very cold now. Her skin stuck to the fabric, and the sweating had likely worsened her dehydration. She found herself dizzy again as her feet reached the floor, but it hardly mattered. She was standing, and she was more concerned about the nausea in her stomach than her fuzzy-headedness. She stumbled into her bathroom as quickly as she could, but it was apparently not quick enough. The sink was the closest, so it’d have to do. As soon as she leaned over it, a few gags were forced out of her throat, and eventually, she vomited up a small puddle of sour fluid. The gagging kept coming, but there was nothing else to expel. A few handfuls of faucet water were downed unsuccessfully, as her stomach almost instantly rejected them. Being able to purge the water did make her feel marginally better, but she was far from well. She let her knees collapse onto the tiled floor, and the rest of her slumped down onto its side. 

She laid there for a little while, drifting in and out of consciousness. At some point, she considered returning to bed-- if she was going to sleep anyway, then there was no reason why she should do it on the floor. But she’d already wasted enough time. Her hands reached up to the edge of the sink, allowing her to pull herself up off of the floor. She waited for her dizziness to subside before heading out, stumbling into the commons of the complex. 

Although the Ithorian Compound was only a short walk from her complex, her physical condition made the trip excruciating. She kept her head down, shielding her eyes from the bright overhead lights in the station’s corridors. Somehow, she managed to stumble her way there while keeping her head down, relying on the muscle memory in her legs. More impressively, she only bumped into a few people on the way. 

After punching her credentials into the terminal by the door, it slid open, revealing the empty compound. The lights inside were slightly dimmer than was usual for this time of day, indicating that the motion sensors hadn’t picked up anything in these rooms-- although Bao-Dur was almost certainly somewhere around here. Her first guess would be the meeting room that they’d talked in some time ago, so she headed there, knocking on the metal door, sending sharp echoes through the empty compound. After hearing no response, she hesitantly pressed the release switch. There she saw him inside. 

“Hello,” Bao-Dur glanced at her, giving the same smile as always. While relieved that he wasn’t obviously upset, she almost wished his reaction was different somehow. 

“H-hey..” her faltering voice as the single word trailed off made it clear that she had something on her mind. His smile faded, knowing what she was thinking. “Last nigh--”

“I’ve already forgotten about it,” he cut her off. “You should, too.” 

Obviously he hadn’t, but his controlled expression seemed to be trying to recreate some normalcy between them. Pakra didn’t know if it was so easy to just pretend like nothing had happened, let alone if it was the best course of action. It _did_ happen, and she didn’t know how she was supposed to just ignore that. How was he able to do it? Was it simply another display of his strict self-regulation, or was she just that inconsequential to him? 

“Are you okay?” 

She definitely wasn’t, and she wanted to tell him that, but he’d already made it clear that he wasn’t going to discuss this subject with her. He was resolute in that decision, and Pakra didn’t even know what exactly she wanted to argue about. All she knew was that there was something left unsaid. 

“You look.. ill.” 

Oh.. he had already dropped the subject himself. He was asking about her physical condition. 

He thought that Pakra always looked vaguely unhealthy, but today she looked outright sick. A thin film of sweat coated her pallid face, and dark circles underscored her tired eyes. Her clothes were much more rumpled and unkempt today, but they were still clearly the same clothes from last night. 

He hadn’t been too perturbed by her casual drug use before, but mixing sedatives with alcohol was entirely different from an occasional sniff of giggledust. 

“I just, um.. drank too much. That’s all,” she tried to manage a smile. She was a horrible liar, and both of them knew it. Normally, Bao-Dur would just drop a subject that she was obviously trying to avoid, but the topic was her health, not some personal sensitivity. If she was sick for whatever reason, then that’d affect him, too. 

“Did you keep drinking after I left?” he didn’t like returning to the previous night, but it couldn’t be helped. 

“Oh.. yeah..” Pakra’s surprise at that question also suggested that she was lying about something, but he didn’t know why she’d lie about continuing to drink. That seemed kind of backwards. “I’m pretty hungover, I guess..” Not an unbelievable excuse. In that absence of any other explanation, he’d have to accept it. If there was more to the story, then she was probably going to continue avoiding it. Perhaps she didn’t sleep well last night? Nightmares again? Or, she could’ve just been emotionally drained. All possible, and all topics that he’d prefer to avoid. 

“I suppose leaving you alone with more alcohol was an oversight on my part.” 

“I mean.. It’s not really your responsibility to look after me.. so..” 

“Well, somebody has to.” 

The implicit message was, _you clearly won’t look after yourself._ Or at least, that was how Pakra interpreted it. 

“I’m sorry..” 

“You’re the one who has to deal with the consequences.” 

She felt a tinge of.. nostalgia? No, not quite.. It was too melancholic for that. Whatever it was, it was accompanied by the strangest feeling of familiarity. Hadn’t she had this conversation before..? 

“Not much we can do now,” he sighed, waving her over. She supposed that much was true. She’d probably just have to wait it out. 

It was already afternoon, and Bao-Dur had spent most of the morning listening in on the Czerka compound, although he did leave for a short while to pick something up from one of the commercial modules. 

“Any updates so far?” she took the chair next to him. 

“Yes, actually,” he clicked the earpiece off and turned to her. Her eyes were half-closed, but set on him. “It sounds like they’ve sent a group to the surface to do reconnaissance, since the previous scouts have been unresponsive.. for obvious reasons.” 

“Oh.. are you going to head back, then?” 

“It’s not necessary,” he stated. “They’re only investigating. I doubt any of them can get into the military compound.” 

“Then.. we just let them go?” 

“There’s more important things here to worry about. They have a slicer coming,” he bit his lower lip, Pakra’s sluggish gaze shifting to the barely-visible fang. “We’ll have to take care of her.” 

“Take care of her..?” Pakra punctuated her question with a nervous laugh, waiting for clarification. 

“Yep.” 

“You mean.. kill her, right?” 

“That’s right,” he was irritated to be asked self-evident questions regarding this topic again, but did his best to be sensitive to her concerns. “Will that be an issue, Pakra?” 

“I..” Pakra started, but didn’t know what she should say. She didn’t want to do it, but she didn’t think Bao-Dur really _wanted_ to do it, either. What alternative did they have, though? It’s not like they could pay them off. She certainly didn’t have the money for that, and while she didn’t know Bao-Dur’s situation, he didn’t even technically have a home right now, so she didn’t think that was a great sign. They could threaten them, but then they’d alert Czerka of it. 

“I’ve never killed anyone before, Bao-Dur..” 

Honestly, that was a little surprising to him, given her illicit skillsets and background on Nar Shaddaa. 

“I’ll be there with you, if that’s any consolation.” There wasn’t much else he could say about it. It’s not an easy thing to do, both practically and emotionally, and he wouldn’t lie to her about that. She wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or worse. 

“Is there a plan?” 

“Not really,” he looked a little embarrassed to admit that. “The slicer’s coming tomorrow, but otherwise, I don’t know the particulars.. Normally, I’d want to do a dry run with you, but I have no idea where she’ll be and when. I’ll just have to monitor the bugs until I figure it out.” That was not particularly comforting. They hardly had time to prepare in the first place, and they’d need to be ready tomorrow at a moment’s notice. “I do have a gift for you, though.” 

Pakra watched in anticipation as he dug through his things, producing a dark-colored metal object. It clinked against the table as he set it down in front of her. 

An SE-14C blaster pistol. 

“We’ll need to practice with it first.” 

“No.. I’ve actually used one before.” 

“Correctly?” 

“Yeah..” 

His eyes narrowed at her. She’d apparently never shot anyone.. Or at least, not lethally. It wasn’t unthinkable that she would’ve used a blaster at some point, but her instruction likely came from informal sources. He was doubtful that she would’ve gotten formal training on Nar Shaddaa. 

“Are you sure?” 

His intense stare made her stutter. “W-well.. Now I’m not..” It’s not like it was difficult, right? It’s a gun, not a circuit board. You pull the trigger, it shoots, and she was pretty good at aiming. What else was there to know? 

“Okay,” he leaned away from her. His gaze softened slightly, but Pakra knew full-well that she was still being evaluated right now. “Pick it up, then.” 

A seemingly normal request, but she didn’t like the way she was being watched. Her fingers curled around the handle, falling neatly into the spots she felt they fit best. Lifting it upwards, she was again surprised by the weight of the object. It seems she hadn’t gotten much stronger over the years. 

“Great. You’ve already failed.” 

“H-huh?” her eyes darted around the gun, looking for her mistake. She didn’t understand. It looked completely normal to her. 

“Here,” his metal fingers wrapped around her wrist, while his other hand very carefully slid her index finger off of the trigger and onto the guard. “Don’t touch the trigger unless you intend to shoot.” 

“O-oh.. okay..” she wanted to say that she had it down now, but she couldn’t even fulfill the basic task of holding the gun properly. That wasn’t exactly inspiring confidence in either of them. 

“On that note, don’t point at anything you don’t intend to shoot, either,” he let go of her wrist, the barrel still aimed at him. “Unless you do intend to shoot me,” he smiled, and she set the gun back down. 

“I’d rather use a rifle..” 

“Pakra, I don’t know if you could even physically lift a rifle.” 

She probably couldn’t, but she still didn’t like that he said it. 

“I take it you haven’t ever taken a pistol apart?” he redirected them back to the task at hand. 

“Um.. is that necessary..?” 

“Yes,” he didn’t even need to think about it. “You should be so familiar with your weapon that you can break it down, clean it, and reassemble it in the dark.” 

She turned to him, unable to hide the dread on her face. “You’re joking..” 

“I’m not,” he was dry as ever. Rather than waste any more time, he began showing her how to break down the pistol. She watched in fascination as he took each piece of the gun apart, explaining each part’s form and function, as well as how to clean each of them. The gun was new and unused, so cleaning it wasn’t necessary at the moment, but it would need to be done after shooting it. By the end, the table was cluttered with barely-recognizable metal parts. If she hadn’t just seen its previous form, she wouldn’t have believed that these would come together to make a blaster. As quickly as he’d taken it apart, he put the gun together with ease, without making a single misstep. 

“It’s easier to watch than to do it, so you’ll need to practice,” he muttered as he put the few final pieces in place. “Master it in normal settings, then try it a few times in the dark,” he handed the gun back to her as she nodded. She took it with both hands, holding it with the same gentle awe as a child might hold a kitten. 

“We do need to figure out where to practice.. I doubt there are many appropriate places on Citadel Station.” 

“Oh! I think I know a place..” she nodded. “Um.. at the bottom of the entertainment module, where I got into the maintenance level..” her face flushed slightly as she remembered functionally shutting down the entire station. “It’s pretty empty.. dark.. quiet.. It might be a good place..” 

Bao-Dur had never been down there himself. He’d only seen layouts of the modules, so he had no way to determine whether or not it was actually a suitable place. That said, he thought that if nothing else, he could probably trust her judgement in terms of choosing a practice range. 

“Are you coming here tomorrow? To the Ithorian Compound, I mean.” 

“Oh.. no, I wasn’t scheduled to..” 

He nodded. “Then we can go tomorrow morning. Hopefully, we’ll have enough time..” 

“Ah.. even if we don’t, I’m pretty good at shooting, so..” 

He raised an eyebrow. She’d also said she knew how to correctly handle a gun. 

“Sorry, but I’m not willing to take your word for it.” 

“A-ah..” Pakra couldn’t give much of a retort. He didn’t have any good reason to trust her on this, anyway. 

“I think I can handle listening on my own for tonight,” he flipped the earpiece back on, keeping the volume low enough that he could still speak to her. “I know you’re feeling unwell, so.. If you want to practice at home, that’s fine with me.” 

Pakra wasn’t sure if he was genuinely concerned about her or if he just wanted to get some space, but either way, she couldn’t deny that she would be more comfortable at home. Actually, she wouldn’t mind going back to sleep for a little while longer. 

“Ah.. alright then..” she slipped the blaster into her knapsack and headed for the door. 

“I’ll come by tomorrow morning, and we can head to the entertainment module together.” 

“Oh..” she stopped. “Um.. you’re staying here again tonight, then..?” 

“Yeah, I am.” He said it without hesitancy, conveying that it wasn’t up for debate. Even so, Pakra couldn’t help herself. She had to say something. 

“I think it’d be safer if.. i-if you stayed at my apartment tonight..” 

Bao-Dur immediately turned to her, meeting her eyes with an aggravated glare. But, upon seeing her innocent, anxiety-ridden face, his expression quickly melted into a pitying, sympathetic smile. 

“Nice try.” 

“N-no! Wait.. I’m serious..” 

He looked doubtful, but kept his focus on her nonetheless. 

“The compound will be filled again tomorrow.. so..” The Ithorian Compound was typically closed on Benduday, but resumed operations at the start of the week, on Primeday. While nobody would find Bao-Dur’s presence itself to be suspect, they may find it odd if he holed himself up in this meeting room all day, alone. Although he didn’t know of it, Pakra thought it would be especially odd, at least to Moza, who was under the impression that the two were an item. It wouldn’t make sense to lock himself up at the compound to do some unspecified activity when he could do so at Pakra’s apartment. 

“I suppose that’s true..” Bao-Dur seriously considered it. He didn’t really want to stay with her, but his feelings were less important than the security of their operations. “I.. I guess I’ll stay with you, then,” he said, resigned. His trepidation only worsened upon seeing her eyes light up in excitement. While what she said was true, she’d also really hoped that they could continue cohabitation. 

“But Pakra,” he started, stopping her again. She anxiously waited for him, eyes still bright. “Nothing is going to happen between us, okay?” 

Her eyebrows furrowed, eyes dulling. “Yeah.. you already told me last night.” 

“I know. I just need you to really understand that. I’m not going to sleep with you anymore, and I don’t want to be touched.” 

“That seems a bit.. unnecessary? I mean.. we’ve already done those things..” 

“Yes, and we shouldn’t have,” as usual, he was resolved, and left no room for argument. He had sometimes permitted her to get close to him in the past, because he thought that allowing some affection between them-- so long as it remained arguably platonic-- was harmless. But now he felt that declining those advancements would have been the kinder thing to do. 

“Do you understand?” he asked again. 

Honestly, she did not. But she nodded anyway. She didn’t understand why he was feeling this way, but his message was nonetheless clear: keep your distance. 

“Good,” he nodded. She wasn’t happy with it, but he had already accepted that she wouldn’t be. He didn’t think he was happy with it, either. “I’ll come by later tonight. Work on deconstructing that blaster before then.” 

“Mmhm..” she nodded, breaking eye contact. 

“You’d better. I might test you to make sure you did.” She frowned at him, clearly displeased with the prospect. His smile had returned, and she had no idea if he was serious or not. “See you later.” 

***

Upon reaching her apartment, she set her new blaster on her desk. She knew she should practice, but her exhaustion was stronger than her sense of duty. Without much of a second thought, she found herself curled up under her blankets again, the fuzzy fabric warming her cold, clammy skin. She fell asleep without any trouble at all. 

Going through serious withdrawal and having been an emotional wreck the previous night, her mind was in the perfect state to concoct nightmares. But none came. Instead, she was reminded of a vaguely similar night: her fourteenth birthday. 

Her birthdays were always celebrated at the Jekk’Jekk Tarr. There were few better places on Nar Shaddaa, and in the Ryloth room, there was an astounding sense of community between the Twi’leks. Even for Pakra, who had never even visited Ryloth and knew only a few Twi’leki words, she felt a sense of belonging that she scarcely felt elsewhere. It did make it a little awkward for her human friends, but it was her birthday, so she was fine with being selfish. 

On this night, her human friends managed to come by with respirators. She knew it was a hassle, so it meant a lot that they were there. But for the next few moments, they’d have to take them off. Fish-Scale had returned from the bar, and was passing around shots to each of the kids. Once everyone had gotten their drink, Backwoods held up her shot glass between them all. 

“To Pack Rat, for her four-- er.. For her birthday!” 

Announcing that she was turning fourteen probably wasn’t wise right before they downed their shots, but either nobody caught the slip-up, or nobody cared. With that, everyone prepared their glass of xuvva’s. All of the kids of Nar Shaddaa had tried xuvva’s breath, at least once. But if you wanted to maintain your image, you had to keep drinking it. At every opportunity. 

The odor of the brackish green liquid wafted through the circle. Everyone looked reluctant to drink it, motivated solely by the scrutiny of their companions. They could very easily get out of drinking such swill simply by agreeing not to criticize each other for it, but they would do no such thing. This was a tradition for countless generations of urchins on Nar Shaddaa, and they were not about to go and break it. 

Their glasses clinked together in the center, and each knocked the shot back as quickly as possible, giving their more rational selves no time to consider whether they really wanted to do this. Each of their faces soured as it poured down their throats. Pakra visibly shuddered after swallowing it, and Fish-Scale tried to hide a gag. 

Barring the Hutts, nobody liked xuvva’s breath. _Nobody._ The drink was originally created by Hutts by fermenting the bark and foliage of a particular tree native to Nal Hutta. The result was, in the Hutts’ perception, a liquor with woody body and a mild, floral finish, usually consumed as an apéritif. But the Hutts’ perception was different for a very important reason: Hutts lacked the ability to detect bitterness. To nearly every other species, the liquid was almost intolerably bitter, to the point that it was sometimes boiled and used as an emetic. 

Naturally, when the Hutts attempted to export the alcohol, they found that it was not popular among anyone outside of their own species-- except on Nar Shaddaa. It was not that the people of Nar Shaddaa _liked_ the drink. They were just constantly in search of new and thrilling experiences, even if they were not exactly pleasant. People were astounded by just how god-awful it was, and made their friends try it just for the hell of it. Before long, taking a shot of xuvva’s breath became an initiatory ritual unique to Nar Shaddaa, practiced by child gangs, criminal organizations, and informal communities alike. 

Once the horrible taste of the liquor subsided from their palates, raucous cheering erupted between the alien friends. The humans would have done the same, had they not been in such a hurry to refasten their respirators. A few Twi’lek strangers came by to inquire about the gangs’ celebration. In general, they were welcoming of the urchins’ presence, so long as they weren’t too obnoxious. Pakra normally kept to herself, but being the center of attention was nice every now and again. She certainly enjoyed being fawned over by older Twi’leks. But something felt off. Something was missing. She found Backwoods by one of the gas canisters and leaned into her ear. 

“Where’d Whiskers go?” 

“I think he went outside,” she yelled back. “To get some air or something,” she waved her hand, rolling her eyes at the human’s sensitivity. 

Pakra managed to slip out while her friends were occupied, back onto the darkened streets. Just outside, she saw Whiskers, sitting by the entrance, his respirator nearby. 

“Hey.. sorry,” he mumbled upon seeing her. “Just needed a couple minutes.. Got a headache.” 

“It’s okay,” she smiled, taking a seat on the curb next to him. “I’m just glad you came.” 

“I don’t have a gift, though.” 

“I thought _you_ were my gift,” she giggled. 

“Geez..” he blushed, remembering the embarrassing thing he’d said the week prior. “That’s not much though, huh?” 

“It’s plenty.” 

The muffled noise of the Tarr could be heard from where they sat outside, in addition to the buzzing of starships overhead. Pedestrians walked by, paying no mind to the dirty, slightly-intoxicated children sitting outside the bar. Most of them had too many of their own worries to meddle with the street urchins. 

Pakra leaned against his linen-clad shoulder as they silently watched strangers pass by. 

***

Bao-Dur didn’t come back until around eight in the evening. He considered going to the apartment much later, but he was afraid of waking her up in the middle of the night. He found the unit’s door unlocked, and inside, Pakra was asleep. He didn’t know if she’d gone to sleep recently or not, but it seemed his efforts to avoid disturbing her were being wasted. That’s what he thought, at least. To his surprise, she continued to sleep soundly as he came in. He set his things down by her nightstand, before something on top of it caught his eye. He picked it up. 

It was a used needle, with a small drop of orange fluid left in the syringe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps worth noting that I got the idea of xuvva's breath from Jeppson's Malört, a notoriously awful liquor that is nonetheless drank for its cultural significance in my hometown of Chicago. 
> 
> Go ahead, try it! :^)


	17. Chapter 17

Most of the kids of Nar Shaddaa got their first jobs early in their teenage years. 

Fish-Scale and Raggamuffin, always the most aggressive of the group, both began training in a mercenary company. Practically from the time that they knew what a merc was, they dreamt about growing up to become one, so their self-instruction in the art of assassination began very early. They’d seen their fair share of violence by that point, and not a small amount was their own doing. Their friends figured that with a little formal training, they’d be the new terrorizers of the Nar Shaddaa streets. 

Whiskers and Backwoods wanted to be doctors, and bonded over this commonality. When they were very young children, they would play ‘doctor’ together at the junkyard using discarded pills and needles. Despite a very similar beginning, their paths would end up diverging quite dramatically as they approached adolescence. 

Backwoods was always regarded as the smartest of the group. Not exactly in terms of booksmarts: she could hardly read, much like the other kids, and had never gone to school. There was just something about her that made her stand out from the others: her mind just worked a little quicker. And it wasn’t only her pals that noticed her sharpness, either. A particular humanitarian group had some presence on Nar Shaddaa, primarily composed of volunteer doctors, scientists, and engineers. While persons of such occupations were distrusted by locals, this specific group was known for administering safe resources while maintaining cultural sensitivity. So the children had no problem letting a group of representative doctors give them vaccines when they established camp in their neighborhood. 

But their role wasn’t solely to administer care. It was also to scout for potential recruits. They knew that there were bright people on Nar Shaddaa who would never get a chance to fulfill their potential because of the lot they were given in life. They couldn’t save everyone, but they could help a lucky few. Backwoods’ fascination with the humanitarians’ camp brought her to their site many times, during which the normally reserved child would become almost obnoxiously inquisitive in the presence of real, trained doctors. Her noted intelligence, young age, and obvious interest made her a perfect candidate for recruitment. When she became a teen, the Rattataki girl was invited to study medicine with them. 

Whiskers, on the other hand, found a more informal outlet for his interests, beginning when he was perhaps ten or eleven. He and Pack Rat returned from a first-time trip to the pharmacy, and in typical Pack Rat fashion, she’d stowed away as many pills as she could hide on her person. The two kids sat on the floor of their converted starship ‘home’ doing their best to sound out the names. 

“Eco..go..neen..?” Pack Rat mumbled. 

“What’s it do?” Whiskers peered over the Twi’lek’s shoulder. 

She shrugged, handing the amber-tinted bottle over to him. He tried inspecting the label himself, but it made little difference. He’d never seen most of the words. It was an odd juxtaposition of nonsense gibberish organized in neat, tiny paragraphs. 

He’d taken pills before, but most of them were in small doses, and sometimes expired, given that he could only take what he found at the junkyard. He’d been curious about their effects, but was always disappointed in his findings; usually, they just gave him a headache, if they did anything at all. Some of them made him sleepy, but he was already tired enough as it was. But, if he wanted to figure out what these pills did, and whether or not they were useful, it seemed there was only one way to find out. 

He popped one of the chalk-white pills into his mouth, cringing as he forced it down dry. 

Fifteen minutes later, a warm, tingly feeling spread across his body, accompanied by the sense of electricity sparking inside of his head. Despite his fatigue just prior to dosing, his body was now wired. He had no way to describe the feeling of being simultaneously tired and hyper, but he imagined you’d get the same feeling after being forcibly resuscitated with a defibrillator. He felt like nothing could’ve possibly troubled him now. Like he could survive anything. 

It lasted an hour, and then it was gone. 

He couldn’t have ever imagined how such a tiny pill could cause such an intense feeling. He tried many more substances after that-- just about anything he could get his little paws on. Soon, he was selling pills like a very real and very stupid pharmacist, working in tandem with Pack Rat to steal from drug outlets. Whiskers was the one to go to if you had a sadness that just wouldn’t go away, or a sleepiness that was never relieved, or anxiety that couldn’t be soothed. He had a pill for anything that could possibly trouble a traumatized child. 

But he wasn’t content with just scalping legitimate pharmacists’ products. Before long, he began experimenting with creating his own ‘medicines’ by crushing and mixing different pills. He’d note their individual effects, and then test their combined effects. If successful when taken together, he’d merge them into a single substance. First he tried shaping them into pills, but they were crumbly and bitter, so he instead tried snorting the powder, as he had seen adults do with some kinds of spice. It was then that he discovered that snorting made the ‘medicine’ set in much quicker than the pill form. And in such a similar fashion of trial-and-error and continuous testing, Whiskers developed his own ‘medications’ blended from various existing pharmaceuticals. 

Eventually, Whiskers discovered that blending certain medications together which theoretically could’ve created something fantastic would instead produce a severe internal interaction. From there, he began to synthesize new forms via reduction, oxidation, hydrolyzing, and similar methods. Whiskers was essentially becoming a self-taught chemist, although he was hardly aware of it, and his methods were not exactly technical. He became a low-level drug runner with the Exchange as a young teenager, with the hopes that he may one day become a cook-- the Exchange was not overly interested in the sale of pharmaceuticals, however, as spice was generally more profitable as heavily-controlled substances elsewhere in the galaxy. 

What of Pack Rat? She had no long-held aspirations, and no clear direction. That said, she was a decent thief-- although clumsy on her feet, her fine motor skills were competent enough to smoothly pocket small objects, and more impressively, to handle and crack complicated locks. Thieves were a dime a dozen, but Pack Rat had additional appeal by virtue of being a Twi’lek girl. She wasn’t exactly cute, but she was pretty pathetic, and Twi’lek girls were already seen more as victims than perpetrators. Much like she’d done within her child gang, she did contract thievery with the Exchange, utilizing the presumed innocence afforded to her to carry out otherwise high-risk jobs. 

Unfortunately, the job was short-lived. Once she hit puberty, it became clear that soon she would no longer be seen as inherently innocent-- adult Twi’lek women, similar to men of the same species, were seen as prone to criminality. Moreover, becoming taller could only hinder her ability to enter into restricted areas or hide in tight spaces. Her Exchange overseers attempted to prolong her usefulness by giving her drugs known to cause stunted growth, but the experiment was only partly successful. It resulted in strangely shortened lekku and a small stature, but otherwise, she still looked more like a woman than a child. Consequently, she was told to find other work. 

After accepting her parting with the Exchange, Pack Rat found herself working with an independent agency that provided lock-cracking services. This could entail large-scale locks or digitized mechanisms, but Pack Rat’s focus was on traditional locks to parcels too delicate to be broken through brute force. This work was near-perfect for her skillset, but the provision of the service itself was more difficult. Past contracted lockpickers sometimes stole the parcels they were hired to crack if it was valuable enough, making clients wary of such services unless fidelity could be ensured. 

There were numerous ways to do this: sometimes incarcerating the contracted lockpicker at the client’s location, or installing a camera on their person to monitor their actions. Pack Rat’s agency used the method of tracking devices using repurposed slave collars. She would wear a slave collar around her lekku that could only be removed by the client at successful completion of her job. It was a little creepy, but it was better than some of the alternative options, so she reluctantly accepted it. That said, she wasn’t expecting the reactions she’d get for wearing such a device: many people felt no obligation to show even basic compassion towards a presumed-slave. On occasion, when in the company of others, her companions would be asked how much she cost them. Insecure and wishing to avoid the trouble, she began wearing a head-harness regularly to obscure it-- a practice that would continue long after her work on Nar Shaddaa ended. 

At about seventeen, she and Whiskers had saved up enough of their income to rent their first apartment together. It even had running water. 

When Pakra thought back to her teenage years, she always went back to being in that apartment with him. Most of the time, they were working on their own things-- he would cook, she would fiddle with some lock. He would go on and on about nothing at all while they worked, but she didn’t mind. She just enjoyed being with him. He was always standing in front of his lab bench, poring through the laboratory notebook he’d kept since he was a child, trying to figure out what concoction to try next. His fingers would absentmindedly twirl his shaggy blonde hair as he planned out his experiment, and she’d have to hold back the urge to go ruffle it. 

“Whatcha cooking over there?” she’d ask between setting pins. 

“Dunno yet,” he’d mumble, pouring some noxious fluid into mismatched glasses. He never wore proper protective equipment, despite being almost as clumsy as her. It was a miracle he never got chemical burns. “You can come try it, though,” he’d grin back at her with jagged, crooked teeth. 

“I’m not your guinea pig..” 

“No, you’re not. You’re my lab Rat,” invariably, he always giggled at his own jokes. 

“Funny,” she’d pout, just until he saw her disgruntled expression. 

When it was clear she was done talking, he’d give her a break. He knew she could get overwhelmed easy, so he didn’t push it anymore. But he still felt the need to talk, so he’d still fill up the air somehow. Pakra remembered laying down on the scavenged mattress of that studio apartment, her eyelids becoming heavy as he hummed to himself. 

_“You know I ain’t stopping_

_until my teeth are rotting..”_

***

The memory of her loved one’s song was cut short by a thumping on her shoulder. Her subconscious wanted to ignore the feeling and return to her dreaming, but after a few unsuccessful attempts to rouse her, the taps came along with whispering. 

“Pakra..?” 

Only at that did she truly wake up, eyes rolling as they struggled to open. When they finally did, she saw Bao-Dur sitting next to her, his metal hand resting on her shoulder. In the blackness of the room, she could just barely perceive some emotion that she had yet to see from him. Was it.. fear? What would he have to fear in this room..? 

“Hey,” his voice was so absurdly soft, wavering faintly as if struggling to summon the single word. She tried to lean into his hand, and he drew back, allowing for no escalations. He held up the used needle from the other night, his expression unchanged. 

“Did you take this earlier tonight?”

“N-no..” 

Taken unaware and still confused in her partially-sleeping state, she’d said it without thinking. His eyes darkened. 

“Then you took it the night before?” 

That was the only other time she could’ve taken it. The needle wasn’t there before he’d left her last night. It was unlikely that she would’ve kept a used needle hidden somewhere in her room, and she just happened to bring it out sometime in the past 24 hours for some indeterminate reason. If she’d only thought before she told him the truth, then she could’ve lied and said she’d taken it tonight. She could’ve said that she just wanted to sleep through her hangover symptoms. But she’d already messed it up. 

There was nothing to do except stare, doe-eyed as she tried to come up with some elaborate explanation. That was answer enough. 

“So, you took a heavy sedative while you were drunk. What, exactly, were you hoping to achieve?” 

Pakra thinks that she’d identified the emotion. He was disturbed. Unexpectedly so. As if his expression wasn’t concerning enough, this was the first time she’d heard him sound so tremulous. Pakra thought it’d be best to hide what she’d done to avoid any potential judgement, or to prevent him from worrying about how it’d affect their Czerka operations, but she hadn’t really thought he would be personally distressed by it. 

“I-I.. just..” she stuttered, trying to piece together what she meant. It was true that what happened had made her want to take the sedative, but she didn’t want to sound like she was placing blame on him for it. “I was just.. really upset..” 

She watched Bao-Dur’s eyes grow wider. She’d tried to say something to ease the situation, but apparently that wasn’t it. It was only then that she realized the impression that he had gotten. 

“N-no! No, I just wanted to sleep.. I knew I’d have trouble, so I thought it’d help..” 

“She just wanted to sleep..” he mumbled to himself, pressing his fingers to his temples. “You’re lucky you woke up,” she watched him twirl the syringe between his fingers as he gathered his thoughts. “Listen.. it’s your life, but I feel obligated to tell you that you are acting insane.”

“It’s not a big deal.. r-really..” 

“Do you know how many things could’ve gone wrong?” he growled. “I can’t stick around to make sure you don’t accidentally kill yourself.” 

“I guess I just.. got lost in the moment..” she curled her legs in towards her body. “Sorry..” 

“Sorry for what?” 

Pakra apparently hadn’t even thought about what she was apologizing for. It just seemed like the correct thing to do in the situation. 

“Um.. for.. making you worry..?” her intonation made it obvious that she wasn’t sure if that was the ‘correct’ answer. 

“You really don’t get it, huh?” 

No, she didn’t. Even now, her instinctive thought was how she was going to get back to sleep without any more needles. She got a bad withdrawal reaction from it, but it’s not like she overdosed. So why freak out about it? _Of course_ she knew it was dangerous, but she was fine. She’d been doing this for how long? And nothing _that_ bad had happened yet. 

“Well.. I’m out of needles now, so..” 

Bao-Dur said nothing for a long while, just staring at her, resigned. 

“Your thought processes are astounding,” he set the needle back onto the nightstand. He had a feeling that nothing he said would get through to her. Nothing that would make her stop, at least. 

Evidently, she had no way of dealing with anything on her own. Spice and other drugs were her way of coping with difficult emotions and experiences, and they may have been her _only_ means of coping. Most people cope in unhealthy ways from time to time, and chemical assistance wasn’t even a particularly rare thing in that regard. What made it a real problem was how frequently and heavily you used it. Pakra seemed to have no moderation in either aspect. 

The fact that she used for emotional support-- rather than being a case of simple reckless recreation-- made it all the more difficult to address. She herself was probably only partially aware that she was using spice in that way. It was part of her background, and sometimes it truly was purely for fun. It’d probably take something a lot more than some scolding for her to realize the harm that she was doing to herself. 

“Guess I can’t stop you.” 

Pakra knew that was true. Even if he’d made her agree to stop, she had no intention of doing so. She’d just get better at hiding it. She watched him return to her desk, halfway considering asking him to stay in bed with her, but she didn’t think he’d respond positively to that. 

“..it does explain why you were ill earlier..” 

Her instinct was to apologize again, but his worry apparently wasn’t the point of the confrontation. She still didn’t understand what else the point might be, but apologizing now wouldn’t get her any closer to the answer. If she’d known what might soothe him, she would’ve said it. Instead, she remained silent until he continued, vaguely awkward in the tense silence. 

“Are you feeling any better?” 

“Um.. yeah, mostly,” still a bit groggy, she nodded nonetheless. Her sleepiness could’ve just been the result of being woken unexpectedly, rather than her depressant hangover. 

“We can leave now, if you’re up for it.” 

They’d agreed to go in the morning, but that plan already had issues insofar as they had no idea when the slicer would actually arrive at the station. Right now, there was little else they could do-- even if the slicer arrived between now and morning, they’d have no way of knowing as long as the Czerka offices were closed. Going now would prevent the time conflict, allowing them to monitor continuously starting in the morning. Her current physical condition still wasn’t exactly optimal for shooting, but she didn’t think she’d be able to get to sleep any time soon. Checking her datapad, she found it was past 20:00. She’d slept for far too long. 

She supposed there was no reason why she couldn’t. 

***

Pakra had to lead the way there, since Bao-Dur had never been to the site in question. Most of the trip to the entertainment module was quiet, and she worried that he might’ve been upset with her. Her own irresponsibility made him worry that he’d made her try something awful. But, their time together was usually pretty quiet, and she never assumed that he was angry with her before.. She peered over him to find his expression more or less neutral, and felt as though the incident was more active in her mind than in his. Maybe she was assuming he had more emotional investment in her than was real, but was that true? His voice was shaking when he’d confronted her. That was real. Did it mean anything significant? 

She mentally scolded herself for ruminating over it. Ultimately it mattered very little how much he cared about her. 

_“Feelings don’t have much to do with it.”_

He wanted nothing between them, regardless of how he felt about her. With that in mind, the possibility that he might care about her only made her aching worse. She bit her tongue, pressing her lips tight. 

“Hey,” 

She was brought out of her daydreaming by Bao-Dur’s voice. 

“This is us, yeah?” 

“What?” she blinked up at him. 

“Our stop,” he clarified. Yes. They were on the shuttle. This was the module they needed. 

“Follow me,” her command sounded more akin to a request. 

The entertainment module hadn’t quite reached peak hours, but it was still busy enough on the top level. As they descended, the population thinned slightly. Pakra had never been on any of the sub-levels during very late hours. She wondered how they compared during that time. Although she’d been surprised to see such a relative abundance of non-human sentients on the lower levels, Bao-Dur seemed as though he’d predicted such.

She hated when people walked behind her. He picked up on that much when she repeatedly looked back at him-- for what purpose, he wondered? Was she afraid he’d leave, or did she distrust him for some other reason? Regardless, Pakra’s looks were not all that concerned him now. The stares of human (and some non-human) passersby suggested that he was the object of suspicion. When she looked back for the fourth time, he was sure to make eye contact. 

“I can lead if you tell me where to go.” 

Pakra probably hadn’t noticed the stares on him, having been caught up in her own thoughts. As such, she didn’t know why he wanted to lead, but she wasn’t going to decline his offer. 

“We just keep on this path.. I’ll tell you when we’re almost there.” 

Sure enough, once they swapped places, most of the humans didn’t give him a second glance. 

The very end of the path revealed the lowermost level. It was the same as Pakra had remembered during her first visit, accompanied by a similar uneasiness. The unadorned, windowless concrete walls of the vacant buildings were not ‘scary’ per se, but there was something incredibly ominous about walking into this nearly pitch-black space, completely uninhabited, only the faint hum of the upper levels barely audible. 

“This is sort of.. unnerving,” Bao-Dur mumbled into the void. Pakra was right about this place: it was dark, empty, and quiet. Quite honestly, it exceeded his expectations on all three of those axes. Presumably, the Republic had expected more interest in commercial establishment when they’d constructed the station, or perhaps they just wanted to be prepared for future development. Either way, the cells on this floor were clearly not inhabited, and he doubted they ever had been. 

His remote was able to provide enough light to search for a decent area. 

“There’s an open area, um..” Pakra tried to recall where she’d gone during her previous visit. She remembered the entrance to the clearing was somewhere down an alleyway.. There was a gate that led out. She waved over her companions as she searched from alley to alley, blindly stopping in front of each in the darkness. Waiting for the remote to catch up and illuminate each stop, there was a brief moment of fear that they may find something terrifying. Certainly, they couldn’t be the only people who’d come down here. Someone else had to have, and such a place could easily have been used to hide things which they did not want found. 

But sure enough, each alleyway proved empty, revealing nothing but barren walls, until the alleyway of interest was finally found. Traversing down it, they reached the blank landscape that covered the lowest part of the module. The floors clinked as they moved from concrete to metal, heavy thumps emitted by the heels of Bao-Dur’s boots, and light scratches and skittering from the rodent-like girl. 

“We can just use one of the building’s walls,” Bao-Dur began tracing a target on one of the concrete walls at the very entrance of the clearing. 

“Are you sure? That seems.. I don’t know..” 

“I don’t think anyone will complain.” 

She supposed she couldn’t argue with that. Initially the target was larger than Pakra had thought prudent, but once she’d found a ten-foot distance, that no longer seemed the case. 

“So, what do you know about marksmanship?” 

“Uh.. aiming..? And, um.. keeping your finger off the trigger,” his remote briefly shined on her, for no reason other than to show her sheepish smile. 

“Well.. it’s a start.” 

Technically speaking, Pakra was right when she thought that gun usage was fundamentally just aiming and shooting. All techniques associated with marksmanship served to ensure greater accuracy of the shot. 

“Show me how you’d normally get ready to shoot.” 

Any movement she made now would’ve been stiff and inept with his eyes hooked on her, inspecting every detail of her body. She’d really never given much thought to how she drew her gun, or how she held it, or anything of the sort. She spread her feet apart somewhat, trying to secure herself as she drew the gun from its holster. She gripped it tight enough to strain her palms. 

“Can you use just one hand?” 

“N-not for very long..” she wasn’t so feeble that she couldn’t hold up a five-pound object in one hand.. but keeping it there was another story. Bao-Dur didn’t seem to like that response, but accepted it nonetheless. It wasn’t ideal, but he could work with it. 

“Here,” he delicately grasped her left hand, sliding it down the receiver. “Don’t cross your thumbs. You’ll cut yourself that way. Keep them on the same side.” 

“O-oh.. okay..” 

“And, keep your arms parallel to the ground.” 

She hadn’t been holding the gun for more than a minute before fatigue began to eat at her scrawny biceps. She straightened her body, trying to stabilize herself, or regain some degree of strength, however meager.

“You need to relax.” 

Pakra frowned. She would’ve liked nothing better than to relax, but this wasn’t exactly a relaxing situation. She was preparing to kill somebody. 

“I’m just.. nervous.” 

“I know, but locking your body will cause unnecessary strain.” 

Standing up straight while remaining relaxed was not something Pakra was used to with her dreadful posture. She altered her stance, shifting her weight until she was able to stand with her legs straight but knees unlocked. What was much more difficult was convincing her shoulders to untense while holding the gun extended. Doing so made her feel even less in control than normal. With each miniscule relaxation of her shoulders, her hands gripped the gun tighter. 

“Okay, now aim.” Pakra adjusted her position until the sights were perfectly aligned, pointing to the shoddily-drawn target. “Whenever you’re ready.” 

Once confident that she’d found the center, she took a deep breath, sliding her finger onto the cold, metal trigger. She barely registered pulling it, as the blaster immediately jumped back, breaking her position and grip. The sound was sharp, but not nearly as loud as she’d remembered. Collecting herself, she saw her shot hit the very edge of the target. 

“ _Fuck!_ ” Pakra cursed herself. She’d really thought she had it. Bao-Dur was looking at her with slight amazement, making her self-hatred fade into embarrassment. “S-sorry..” 

“Oh, no, I don’t care. You don’t have to watch your language around me,” he regulated his expression, and Pakra calmed in turn. “I just wasn’t expecting it.” 

He stood behind her. “Anyway.. Let’s figure out the issue. Get ready again for me.” 

She recreated her stance, readjusting her sweaty palms to grip the receiver again. Looking down the sights, she found the target’s center again. 

“Um.. what does it mean to ‘squeeze’ the trigger?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I heard you’re supposed to ‘squeeze’ the trigger instead of ‘pull’ it.. but I don’t really get the difference.” 

“Oh, I see,” he reached around to her right hand, taking the index finger that had rested obediently on the trigger guard. “You’ll want to center the trigger on the first finger segment. Not under the knuckle, or at the tip. If you center it correctly, it’ll squeeze.” He lined it up over the approximate area on the trigger guard. 

She pressed her finger pad down onto the guard.. She thinks she understands. 

“It’ll help keep the muzzle from veering off-target, and lessen the recoil. Try it again now, and take your time. If you’re in a hurry, you’ll jerk it back.” 

She nodded. Squeeze, don’t pull. With minimum pressure, she pressed into the trigger, keeping the rest of her hand muscles as still as possible. The gun recoiled again, though not so dramatically. The shot was closer this time, but still not in the center. 

“Were you breathing when you shot?” she jumped a little, having forgotten he was behind her. 

“I-I’m always breathing..” 

“You don’t want to do them at the same time.” 

“Huh..?” she tilted her head, breaking her posture as she looked back to him. “I should hold my breath?” 

“Sort of.. Take a deep breath, then after you exhale, you’ll line up and shoot before breathing again. That way your body movements won’t interfere with your accuracy.” 

“Urm.. I don’t know if I can do that..” 

“Hm..?” now that he thought about it, she did breath rather loud for such a slight creature. Even at rest, her breathing was rather laboured. He hadn’t thought much of it, but now it seemed there was a real reason behind it. 

Pakra felt his hand brush against her neck. She would’ve believed it an accident, until she felt it snake down over her collarbone, resting in the center of her chest. The light pressure there made her heartbeat palpable against her chest. 

“Breath normal for me, please,” his tone was near-clinical. 

That was only made more difficult now, and both of them well-aware of that fact. Bao-Dur was careful not to let their bodies touch in any other way while his hand was there. Pakra let her eyes close, pretending she was at the doctor. She’d never actually visited a doctor before, but she’d seen entertainment holotapes that were set in hospitals. Yes, just a doctor taking vitals. Slowly, her physiology returned to resting states. 

Bao-Dur could feel her breaths against the back of his hand, coupled with the shallow rise and fall of her chest. They were short and quick, and every inhalation was accompanied with shaky undulations of her body, as if she was perpetually winded. 

“Deep now.” 

Her chest filled, but barely rose any more than her standard breathing. 

“That seems.. uncomfortable,” he muttered, sliding his hand off of her, making her feel oddly empty. He wondered what the cause of it was, but prying into her medical issues seemed inappropriate. “Well, it may take some more practice, then.. Timing it with your respiratory pause.” It was more like manufacturing a respiratory pause. She was very literal when she said she was always breathing. 

Indeed, it did take some practice. She was doubtful as to how much her breathing could really impact the accuracy of her shot, but she was going to trust him. She could hold her breath for a few seconds, but within that time, she had to finalize her aim, adjust her position, and make the shot. She tried several times to rush through each, only to find her aim worsened with each attempt. It looked like he was right-- she needed to take her time if she wanted to be accurate. Thus, rather than hurrying through every step subsequently, she began to practice each individually, perfecting one before moving to the next. Bit by bit, her shots became more accurate, until her precision peaked around two centimeters from the center. 

“It’s not perfect, but it’s progress,” Bao-Dur inspected the heavily singed concrete wall, noting the gradual drift of her shots inward. “It’ll be harder in the moment, though.” 

Pakra nodded, moseying up to the target alongside him. She didn’t know how long they’d been down here, but it’d felt gruelingly long. Her arms ached from her repeated lifting of the blaster. She insisted she was feeling confident in her abilities, too embarrassed to admit that continuing would be physically unbearable. She couldn’t tell if Bao-Dur believed her or not, but he accepted it anyway. 

“Do we have anything planned? How will it go tomorrow..?” Pakra stuck close to him, careful not to step outside the boundary of light created by his remote. 

“We can talk about it when we get back,” he replied, direct and impassive. She felt more secure walking behind him, but she was very frustrated by being unable to see his face. As it was, it sounded like he was not open to discussing it. But she very badly wanted to discuss it now. It was better to get it over with, so that she might be able to leave behind the ugly subject at the bottom of this module. She didn’t want to carry it into her home, the one place that was supposed to comfort her. There was one thing in particular that could not wait, and which everything else hinged on. They were getting closer to the exit of this level-- she had to say something now. 

“Bao-Dur..?” 

He stopped just at the start of the pathway up to the next level. He said nothing in response, simply waiting for her to continue, entirely expressionless. Usually he gave some sort of reassurance, whether it be a light smile or a verbal acknowledgement. The absence made Pakra worry. Was he upset about what had happened earlier? Or did he know what she would say? 

“I don’t want to do this.” 

“This?” he cocked his head. 

“Um.. tomorrow, I mean.” 

“Oh… I see,” his gaze shifted away from her, towards the bleak, empty cityscape around them, focusing on nothing in particular. “Are you backing out, then?” 

“Do I..” her eyebrows creased. “Do I have that option?” 

Finally, his face gave some indication of his emotions, greying with exhaustion. “Do you think I’d force you to do something like this?” 

She blinked up at him, doe-eyed. Her anxiety said, _yes, he would_ , but she didn’t know if that was truly reflective of reality. Really, the very fact that he’d asked that question seemed to suggest that it wasn’t. She also did not want to insinuate that she thought badly of him-- even if that’s exactly what she was doing now. 

“Pakra..” Bao-Dur took a moment to rub the sleepiness from his eyes as he collected his thoughts. “It doesn’t take two people to assassinate a _slicer._ I could do this on my own. Actually, I might be more successful on my own. You are.. sometimes more of a liability than an asset.” She winced. It was probably true, all things considered, but it still hurt to hear it. It seemed that the stress she’d put him through may have eroded some of his usual tact. “The point is to show you what to do if I’m not on Citadel Station. In that case, then you’re the only one who could do it.. But I can’t force you, even if I wanted to.” 

Only once he was finished speaking did he look back at her. She felt as though she still had a stupid, wide-eyed look as she processed what he’d said. She’d gotten this far, and really, she was already responsible for the death of numerous people. It was her fault that he had to kill Czerka scouts while he was stranded on the surface. Just because she hadn’t pulled the trigger didn’t mean that she hadn’t caused that situation in the first place. If this happened again in the future and Bao-Dur wasn’t there to take care of it, then she would have to, lest everything up to now be in vain. 

“..Ah.. I.. I guess I’ll go with you, then..” 

Bao-Dur nodded, clearly uneasy about that answer. Her own doubt was obvious. If she was going to back out, he’d prefer it now rather than later. But if she said she would do it, then he could only trust her. 

“Anything I can do to make you more comfortable?” 

Pakra certainly wished there was something, but she didn’t know what that might be. She thought about talking to him about why she was so hesitant, but would he understand? He was in the military. Even if he was just a technician, he’d clearly been in combat situations. And.. he was an Iridonian, too. Was that bigoted to say? She’d always heard that Iridonians were fierce and warlike. That rumor didn’t come from an Iridonian, but at least some of the rumors she’d heard about them turned out to be true. 

There were a million different things she could say. She could’ve talked about her own experiences. She could’ve asked him about his background, about Iridonia, or about fighting for the Republic. Perhaps they couldn’t see eye-to-eye about this, but maybe they could at least understand each other a little bit better. 

“..no.. I’m alright,” she avoided looking at him when she said it. One of her many tells. Bao-Dur wasn’t going to pry into something she didn’t want to talk about, even if he was curious. Perhaps it really was nothing-- most people would have qualms about doing this. He didn’t need to pressure her to speak to learn something so unambiguous. 

“..we should head back, then.” 

With that, Pakra allowed him to take the lead again, trailing behind him like a lost kitten. The anxiety welled up in her silence, unbroken even upon reaching the hectic late-night crowds. She was fairly certain that the next 24 hours would be a catastrophic nightmare, and she wasn’t even attempting to avoid it. It was beginning to feel as if she’d follow him straight through the gates of hell if he asked her to. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you ever *really* want to write, just not about what's going on right now? I have 20k+ words written for this fic, but it has nothing to do with the current situation. Ugh! 
> 
> Also, just a gentle reminder about the "graphic depictions of violence" and "blood and gore" tags.

Assassination itself is not particularly difficult. Pick the right weapon, give it to a competent person, and a single well-timed, accurate shot could kill them instantly. In a vacuum, it’s really that simple. But people don’t live in vacuums. People are messy, literally and figuratively. Even if they’re physically isolated, they have social connections that will eventually come looking for them. Oh, and the issue of cleanup is a whole ordeal in itself. 

Several factors made them anticipate this to be a difficult job. The setting might’ve been the biggest obstacle: Citadel Station was a small, more or less linear location. Secluded, closed-off areas existed-- such as the lowest sublevels of the entertainment modules-- but they were generally out of the way. Most visitors would never find themselves there. They would have to lure them if they wanted to execute the slicer there. That would be difficult, though. Lure them with what, exactly? They knew nothing about their target except that they were a woman and a contracted slicer. 

What was the next best option? If they had to do it somewhere along the main travel path of the station, then the most secure area would be the shuttle between modules. From the residential and entertainment modules, there was considerable traffic, but moving towards the docking bay, passengers became more sparse. They might be able to get their target alone there. But then there was the problem of escape. For obvious reasons, they couldn’t just leave the shuttle before it reached its stop. They could move between shuttle cars, but if they weren’t empty as well, then they risked being witnessed leaving the scene of a murder. 

And, of course, the scene. If they went through with that plan, they’d have no way to dispose of the body. The murder would inevitably be discovered, and Czerka would almost definitely figure out that someone was meddling with their operations. There were just too many unlucky ‘accidents,’ one after another. Bao-Dur knew that as soon they were found out, things would become exponentially harder. Was there any alternative? 

“Maybe.. I could plant a mine..?” Pakra’s suggestion was totally unexpected. She sat cross-legged on her bed, Bao-Dur at the desk across from her. 

“I’m sorry? What?” 

“I don’t have a _ton_ of experience with pickpocketing, but.. I’m good enough at it, I think..” she nodded. “I could plant a timed mine on her.. It’d go off, and nobody would have any idea it was us.”

“Oh, god..” he groaned, thinking of the horrific mess that’d cause. “I’d prefer to traumatize as few people as possible. I’d rather innocents not witness a person spontaneously explode.” 

“Oh, r-right.. That’s true..” She herself didn’t want to see that. 

“And.. in the worst case, if it gets out that the murder was related to the Restoration Project, then.. That’d look really bad for us. Optics, and all.” 

“Yeah..” she frowned. She thought it was a good plan. She guessed any method that would significantly damage bodily integrity was out of the question, too. No pushing her in front of the shuttle, then. “Maybe a more indirect method? Poisoning?” 

“Something like that requires time and planning.. We’re lacking both.” They had no clue how long the slicer would stay on Citadel Station before descending to the surface. “I had you practice with that blaster for a reason, you know.” 

“Ah.. I know,” she clearly didn’t want to use it. But in the end, it seemed that was going to be necessary. 

Bao-Dur told her that he’d monitor the Czerka compound as soon as they started operating. Once there was some indication of when the slicer would arrive, they could go find her. If she was staying for a day or longer, then they could track her and maybe pursue a less risky execution. But he told her to expect otherwise. 

Once they tracked her, they would follow until they found an optimal opportunity for execution. They should stay away from each other, communicating only sparsely and exclusively non-verbally until they are complete. They should wear several layers of clothing which obscure identifying characteristics, if possible-- people often wore masks, robes, and similar garments on Citadel Station, so it shouldn’t look out-of-place. 

One of the most difficult aspects would not be the murder itself, but rather, what happens afterwards. Assuming they took proper precautions and fled the scene quickly, official authorities should not be a significant issue. But it was difficult to anticipate how Czerka would react. The setback of hiring and shipping in another slicer would buy them some time to formulate next steps, at least. 

For the time being, they needed to sleep, but that was easier said than done. 

As promised, Bao-Dur slept at Pakra’s desk. He deactivated his repulsor arm, while his other arm curled up on the desk, acting as a pillow. She was reminded of when she’d slept at his workbench on the surface of Telos some months before. She knew from experience, then, that the position wasn’t particularly comfortable, but he insisted that they didn’t sleep together. Arguing would’ve been pointless, so she didn’t try bringing it up again. 

She tried her damnedest to get to sleep in spite of her nerves, but found herself rolling around her bed through the night, mind too busy for her to rest. Each time she opened her eyes, she thought that Bao-Dur didn’t look like he was sleeping either, though his insomnia was nothing out of the ordinary. She thought it a bit funny, and a bit awkward, that they were both wide awake in this still room, pretending to be asleep. She thought about saying something, but she didn’t know what that’d be. 

She couldn’t be sure if it was tomorrow’s operation that had him anxious, or if it was something else entirely. It was too difficult to read him, but truly, he had to have some reservations about committing murder, right? Perhaps it was a little different, having fought in war, but he was a technician. Was he even in combat? Many questions, but she couldn’t ask any of them right now. Maybe asking at all was a bad idea. 

In the absence of a better explanation, she chose to believe that their anxiety was shared. In some strange sense, it comforted her to silently commiserate with him, knowing that tomorrow they would be doing this together. It was the only thought that would bring her sleep. 

***

It was probably safe to assume that Pakra rarely withheld from indulging in any hedonistic desire that crossed her mind. Even on the infrequent occasion that she declined herself the pleasure, it took very little prodding to change her mind. She had no self-control, and no concept of delayed gratification. Although she usually satiated such thirsts through substance use, it was not really an addiction to spice as much as bad ideas. 

Bao-Dur was not an ascetic. He didn’t have any objections to the occasional delectation, but he was very careful about not letting them get out of hand. He discovered very quickly after the war that what began as temporary pain relief, or even just genuine pleasure-seeking, could easily devolve into self-harm. Developing discipline was necessary, lest he end up with more issues on top of everything else. It wasn’t quite so healthy as it might seem, though. The reasonable choice was not always the most satisfying. It was difficult to reason oneself out of an emotion, or worse, a craving. When it didn’t work, then there wasn’t much he could do except force it out of his mind, or dampen its severity with self-hatred. 

There was very little he could do about his unconscious thoughts, however. 

It was rare that he remembered his dreams. He knew he had them, evidenced by emotions that lingered after waking. Usually this was somewhere between vague uneasiness to outright terror, but not exclusively. Sometimes, he didn’t even know how he felt until he confronted suppressed emotions while asleep. It was so odd-- sometimes, he didn’t know he was missing someone or something until he dreamt of them. He’d spent so many years fighting his own emotions that sometimes he didn’t even consciously register ‘complicated’ feelings anymore. They were still there, of course. He just couldn’t see them.

He could not recall very much of this dream, as was usual. He remembered it was his own interpretation of a Rylothian hammam. He’d never been to a bath house, let alone a Rylothian one, but he knew them as a symbol of the Twi’leki ‘exoticism’: the image of dozens of naked Twi’lek women bathing together was quite popular. He hadn’t ever given much thought to it, positive or negative, so it was an odd setting for his dream. 

The room was spacious and dimly lit, with high ceilings and pillars interspersed, and filled with hot, clear water. The walls and floors were lined with tiles, alternating in creamy white and sky blue.. The same shade of blue as Pakra’s skin. Were the tiles made of her skin? Oh, oh no, no, no, don’t think about that. It was hard to keep up with the pattern.. It seemed to move with his eyes. 

He was in the water with his Twi’lek companion. Despite being able to hold at least twenty people, they were the only two in this temple-like space. She sat just across from him, head resting in her arm that curled on the ledge of the pool. Her knees were together and feet tucked under her, so that he couldn’t see between her legs. Off-limits, it seemed. It hardly mattered, though. The water line ended just above her waist: her breasts were fully visible, a few droplets running down their shallow curves. Despite him being the one staring this time, she did nothing that alluded to discomfort; in fact, she looked more at ease than ever.. Inviting, even. 

She shifted, bringing her feet out from under her and tilting up her hips upwards. When she unfurled her legs a bit, he could just barely see, beyond the rippling of the water in the dim light, her outer lips, soft and curled and slightly opened. They reminded him of carnation petals. He wanted to find out if she feels just as velvety-- no, he _must_ find out. He suddenly felt so self-conscious about his hands now. Oh.. only one right now, but even so, where should it go? On her? Where on her? Would she enjoy that? His fingers twitched against the tiles, those flesh-colored tiles, was he touching her now? She tilted her head at him, so as to say, _“Do you like it?”_

At that, he woke up, a bad taste in his mouth and sweat dampening his face. 

He turned back to her. She was still out of it. Her console read about fifteen minutes to 5:00. It couldn’t have been more than a few hours since he’d fallen asleep, but he doubted it was possible to get any meaningful rest before the Czerka offices opened. 

Before then, he could’ve cleaned and prepared their guns or something of that sort. But hazy images from his dream clouded up his tired mind, preventing him from doing anything productive within this hour or so of free time. What the hell was that, anyway? It wasn’t the first time he’d considered her in a sexual manner. He’d done it on the night they were drinking together. But he was under the influence, it was only for a few short moments, and he hadn’t thought about it since then. Had that been enough to poison his thoughts? 

..Well, maybe he wasn’t being _exactly_ truthful with himself. That night he held her while she slept, he’d noticed it, hadn’t he? That silly, blissful smile, her skinny fingers grasping his shirt tight, body pressed against his side, leg curled over his lap. Whenever she moved in her sleep, she grinded against him-- completely oblivious to it, too. It was impossible to ignore _that_ entirely. Even if he’d kept himself from consciously dwelling on it-- or worse, acting on it in some fashion-- it still made him feel some type of way, hadn’t it? 

The question now was: what was that feeling? Was he developing an infatuation as well? Something like that would probably be more obvious, wouldn’t it? Besides, she was a handful. Dependent, impulsive and reckless about things she should’ve been cautious about, and naive about what should be common knowledge. Not exactly what he would consider ideal in a partner. 

Then was it merely sexual? Like Pakra, Bao-Dur hadn’t done much socialization on Citadel Station before going to the planet’s surface to work. It’d been a long while since he was close to anyone else, even platonically, other than her. And.. Pakra was a woman. A kind of strange, waifish one, but it didn’t stop him from noticing the curves of her hips. Or her warm, patchouli-like scent. And it practically _dripped_ off of her when she slept. 

Looking at her now.. that didn’t seem right, either. Neither seemed right. He didn’t know how he felt. She was.. his friend. But it was kind of more than that, right? It wasn’t ‘love,’ it wasn’t ‘desire,’ it was like.. a wish. A wish that they could be together in the future. Perhaps he was just worried? He had plenty of reason to be, between her complete disregard for her own well-being and how today’s operation would pan out. That.. didn’t explain the dream, but maybe that was just the consequence of not being with a woman for too long. Yes. He was going to follow this explanation. This one was the least problematic. 

Yet.. he still wanted to touch her. 

It’d be pretty perverse, though, to touch a woman _anywhere_ while she slept, wouldn’t it? It just felt terribly creepy.. Not that it stopped Pakra from doing it to him, though. 

He was fixed on the clock, watching each minute lag by as he did absolutely nothing. His fingernails clicked rhythmically against the metal desk, perhaps hoping he might sabotage himself by waking her up. His heel bounced anxiously under the desk as the time creeped to 5:30, then 5:45.. Finally 5:59. His eyes began to burn, unaware that he’d kept himself from blinking for that full, final minute. 

6:00. 

He spun around to her. She was still fast asleep, looking small and innocent with the masses of blankets pulled up to her nose. It was little things like this that almost made her cute. Really, the fact that she could look so deceptively uncorrupted was incredible, and he almost didn’t want to ruin this pure, simple scene. 

He plucked the blankets between her thumb and index finger, gently pulling them down to her chest. It reminded him of his dream.. But the memory was frustratingly blurry. For a second or two too long, he thought how lovely it would be to see in reality. It almost made him dizzy. 

He brushed his fingertips against the nape of her neck. 

..velvety. 

His fingers lowered down over her delicate tendons, relaxing there. He thought that touching her would make him feel a little better, a bit more satisfied, but it didn’t. It may have done the opposite. His mouth still tasted bitter, but there was nothing else he could do. He’d already indulged himself too much. 

Actually, now he was a little concerned that his fingers were practically around her throat and she was still fast asleep. Was she lost in a dream? As is, he could just pull away and pretend like it never happened, and she’d be none the wiser. She really should wake up, though. 

He slid his hand down her collarbone, to her shoulder. She felt so, so fragile. 

“Pakra.” 

He tapped her a few times. She groaned, shifting under him. 

“Is it time..?” she mumbled, not bothering to open her eyes, maybe not even realizing how close they were. 

“No. But you should wake up. To clean your blaster.” He drew back, and only then did she notice his touch-- and now lack of such. She grimaced, both knowing how unfair it felt to her. 

“Clean..? I’ve barely used it,” she struggled to sit up, groggily straining to check the time. 

“You need to take the fingerprints off.” 

“Oh.. I see,” she almost looked like she’d take her chances for an extra hour of sleep. 

“C’mon,” Bao-Dur stood, offering her his hands. She took them, and he pulled her out of bed effortlessly. She stumbled forward, almost into him-- he stepped back to avoid it, letting her go when she steadied herself. “I’ll listen in while we work,” he added, adjusting his earpiece. 

With cotton gloves, they broke down their guns together. Bao-Dur would be bringing a rifle, on the off-chance that they run into some significant trouble. Bringing something so powerful to assassinate one person seemed excessive, unless the slicer turned out to be a rancor. But at least they would be prepared for anything. His eyes shifted between his own blaster and Pakra’s handgun. 

“You didn’t practice, huh?” 

She avoided his scrutiny, eyes firmly focused on clumsily disassembling the blaster. Eventually, each part was cleanly separated, even if it took much longer than her companion would’ve liked. Each part was wiped down before being reassembled. Bao-Dur thought it was possible, though undesirable, that one of their weapons may be left behind. If they run into trouble, it might be accidentally dropped, or they may need to be discarded to avoid suspicion. 

Being able to blend in afterwards was crucial. Bao-Dur stressed wearing something nondescript, boring, and neutrally-colored. Absolutely nothing that would draw attention in any way. It would be particularly important for him, given the relative rarity of Zabraks off-world. 

“Just try to act normal afterwards, alright? And for gods’ sake, if an officer stops you-- no, if _anyone_ stops you, just comply. Don’t fight them, don’t freak out.” Pakra nodded, but she wasn’t feeling confident. She had a hard enough time acting like a normal, well-adjusted person when she was completely innocent. Official authority in particular freaked her out. She wasn’t used to them, and it was scary to consider how much power they had. 

Repeatedly running through the procedure was meant to prepare her, but the more they did, the more hesitant she became. She was looking for any way out, but it felt much too late to back out now. 

“Bao-Dur.. Will I definitely be the one to shoot?” if she didn’t actually fire the shot, then that would make her feel at least a little less responsible. Either way, it was going to happen, but her conscience would rest easier if her role was more passive. 

“Not necessarily,” he mumbled as he tried to keep track of their conversations and the signal from the Czerka offices. “Whoever’s in the best position for it will have to. That might be either of us.” 

So, it really just depended..? It was better than the answer she was anticipating. She was afraid he might want her to do it, since it was clearly not an area in which she had experience. Fortunately, he was not so cruel as to require it from her, even if that choice was more practical than anything. 

Once they’d run through the procedure a few times and finished cleaning their blasters, it was just a matter of waiting. Pakra sat anxiously on her bed while he listened closely to their bugging devices. Preferably, she would’ve been able to keep her mind occupied while they waited, but her thoughts were too busy for it. 

An hour ticked by. Then two. 

She laid down, silently lamenting how much extra sleep she could’ve gotten. Her feet dangled off of the edge of her bed as she kicked them absent-mindedly. The clothes she had to wear were becoming uncomfortable: her outer layers consisted of the same drapey wear she was accustomed to, but underneath, she’d opted for something more fitted in hopes of looking less peculiar. She was not used to fabric sticking to her. 

“Any word?” she asked, staring up at the featureless white ceiling. 

“Not yet.” 

As several more hours ticked by, both began to worry that perhaps the slicer had contacted Lorso outside the Czerka facilities. Perhaps her scheduled arrival was pushed back to a later date, or maybe she already arrived prior to this morning. Pakra’s headache worsened to think of those possibilities. The best case scenario was that she hadn’t arrived and she never would. But if this had to happen, she just wanted the anticipation to end. 

As if her quiet languishing had been a prayer, Bao-Dur slung his rifle over his shoulder. The cold clicking of the metal against his cybernetic was grating. 

“Come on. She’s here.” 

Pakra stumbled to her feet, tucking the blaster away in her coat. She obscured her face partially with a scarf, tucking the tips of her lekku inside to make them appear longer. But otherwise, being a Twi’lek, she wouldn’t immediately look out of place. Meanwhile, Bao-Dur had to use a hooded cloak to hide his horns and repulsor arm, and Pakra reluctantly granted him her respirator to wear, making him appear like a Ubesian mercenary. It didn’t matter, so long as his actual species wasn’t discernable. 

They departed together, wordlessly. Pakra accidentally made eye contact with her apartment’s receptionist, briefly wide-eyed before both young women hastily looked away from each other. Pakra hoped that she hadn’t thought their appearances suspicious. The receptionist, seeing a presumed-Ubese, thought that the Twi’lek consorted with a very strange array of men. 

Bao-Dur kept the earpiece in as they traveled, hoping to better ascertain who their target was by the status of her conversation with Lorso. After all, they had no idea what she looked like, or even what species she was. 

“It sounds like she’s heading straight to the surface,” Bao-Dur whispered to her as they neared the compound. The click of his tongue was audible even under the respirator. That meant that they had one shot. The woman was going to travel back to the docking bays. They would have to go through with the plan of executing her on the shuttles. He wasn’t sure if a starship was already prepared to take her to the surface, but either way, it would be astronomically more difficult to assassinate her once she actually got to the docking bay commons. 

“Where are we headed?” 

“Docking bay B.” 

It was the second docking bay module on the shuttle line. The good news was that people generally didn’t board the shuttle between docking bay A and B, unless they accidentally got off at the wrong shuttle. Meaning, they had a greater likelihood of being alone with their target, thus minimizing the potential for witnesses-- or worse, extraneous casualties. Unfortunately, it also meant that unless a miracle occurred, the killing _absolutely needed_ to happen between modules A and B. There was no second chance. 

Before they’d gotten too close to the Czerka compound, its heavy metal door slid open, and a small figure stepped through. Next to the door guards, she looked even more unassuming. 

“I think that’s her,” Bao-Dur nodded to her. 

The slicer. She was a human, fair-skinned and a little short, with freckles dotting her face. She was playing with her cropped hair, or maybe messing with it was more accurate. She seemed the type to have cut it for practical rather than aesthetic reasons, but even at chin-length, it was still too troublesome. Pakra figured they were of similar age. Where was this woman from, she wondered? Why was she working for Czerka? Maybe she taught herself all about computers, because she had neither the money nor connections for formal training. Czerka was the best offer for her. It’s tough, being a young woman in such a demanding world. It was one job, then she’ll move on to the next contract.. or, she would have, anyway.

“Alright. Keep your distance from me,” Bao-Dur moved to follow her before turning back once more. “It’s gonna be okay, Pakra.” 

Pakra only nodded, watching him stalk the girl. She waited until he was several meters away before tagging behind him. 

One of the more unfortunate aspects here was that it was around 16:00, meaning there was quite heavy foot traffic across the station. This could be used to their advantage: if they were unlucky enough to attract attention, then the crowds might provide cover to escape into. That said, it also increased the chances that they’d encounter more potential obstacles, too. Bao-Dur had hoped that it’s happen early in the morning, so that it was plausible enough to be traveling, but still not too crowded. It seemed not all could be perfect, though. At least it wasn’t very late at night, as too few people could be just as bad, or worse, than not enough. The only other people out at that time of night are the cops, and two aliens running around with blasters in the dead of night were sure to attract attention. 

Pakra wound around the crowds, trying to keep an adequate distance without falling behind. She was sure that Bao-Dur was more competent than she was when it came to tracking, and the girl was too far ahead to keep a close eye on, so she followed his trail instead. He didn’t look back at her, apparently putting trust in her to not skidaddle as soon as his back was turned. 

Her heart began to race once they reached the shuttle platform. This was actually happening. Was she really going to do this? Was she going to execute someone? 

The platform was littered with various people, most of whom traveling alone, but a few couples of small groups made more than enough noise for everybody. Because the Czerka compound was actually located in a residential module, most of these people were probably traveling to work or relax in the entertainment modules, or they were travelers heading to the docking bays. 

After a few short minutes, the shuttle whirred up to the platform, blowing stale, humid air into passengers’ faces as they crowded around the doors to the cars. Only now did Pakra see Bao-Dur scan the area to confirm her presence. She thinks she made eye contact, nodding vaguely at him. It was hard to tell with the respirator obscuring his eyes. 

Everyone filed inside the train car, dispersing until the seats were filled, the rest of them left to stand in the aisleways, their bodies crushed together, making the rather large shuttle car feel unbearably small. Pakra was pushed in between several much larger persons, with no handles or bars to hold onto, held up solely by the weight of those surrounding her. Her feet felt shaky, trying desperately to find balance as the shuttle departed to the next module. She could feel the breath of a Zygerrian behind her. It was hardly pleasant, but at least it served as a momentary distraction. 

The shuttle stopped at each subsequent module, a few people leaving each time to work a night shift, or to get a drink, or to meet up with friends. Most had left by the time they passed the entertainment modules. Pakra found it increasingly difficult to keep herself distracted until they reached their final destination. As they made the relatively long trip to the first docking bay, she scanned the car, seeing Bao-Dur far on the opposite side, arms crossed as he stood, holding onto nothing. How did he keep his balance? Pakra could hardly do it when the ground under her was completely still. 

Her eyes moved across the remaining passengers: what looked like a human pilot, an official-looking, wealthy male human (perhaps an ambassador of some sort?), and a group of Rodians donning similar uniforms. On the end where she stood, just a couple of meters from her, the slicer woman sat, looking a little bored and spacey. Pakra wondered what she was daydreaming about. Maybe thinking about what she would have had for dinner, or what she’d say to her partner when they called her, or how she would have treated herself after getting that generous Czerka payment. 

The shuttle scraped one more time against the tracks before grinding to a halt. The robotic voice over the intercom announced their location as docking bay ‘A,’ and the doors slid open. Pakra watched the Rodians energetically exit, speaking excitedly to each other in their language. The ambassador made long, measured steps out onto the platform, and the pilot lazily followed him. 

When the doors closed again, it was only the three of them. The intercom announced that the next stop was docking bay B. She had about three or four minutes. 

Pakra gazed down the aisle to the opposite side of the car. Bao-Dur peered into the window on the door that separated the shuttle cars. He turned back to her and nodded. 

This was it. 

She took a few shaky steps towards the girl, struggling to keep balance. Pakra felt her periphery becoming dark and blurred, as if her physiology was allowing her sole focus to be on this target. She was only a few feet from her. 

The slicer looked straight at Pakra. 

At first, it was nothing. One of them was supposed to look away, but Pakra could not. She stared down the woman for several moments, feeling her heart race quicker with each second that passed. The slicer leaned back, trying to shrink from this strange Twi’lek glaring at her. 

“Excuse me..?” her voice was warm in tone, despite her apprehension. She didn’t seem evil. She was just a normal person. But she was an instrument in a machination much greater than either of them. So she had to die. 

Pakra moved her hand into her coat as quickly as she could, but the overflow of cortisol made her fingers shaky, fumbling as she tried to grasp the blaster. By that time, the slicer had already ascertained that something was wrong here. Her hand slid downwards to a small holster, beginning to withdraw what looked like a needle pistol. The woman’s fingers were just as shaky as Pakra’s-- she always carried her pistol for safety, of course, but she never thought she’d actually have to use it. Now, both women reaching for their respective guns, it was just a matter of dexterity. But the Twi’lek had a head start over the human, and unlike the slicer, Pakra knew exactly what was happening. Her hesitation had nothing to do with uncertainty. 

Just like they practiced: lined up the sights, staring straight down the barrel. In her haste, she had grasped the receiver with both hands, thumbs crossed over each other, held in a death grip. She couldn’t get the girl’s temple standing directly in front of her.. It would be too difficult. The risk of missing was too high. She aimed for the center of the human’s forehead. Don’t pull the trigger. Squeeze it. 

No breath control. 

She was as far from breath control as a person could be. Practically hyperventilating when she squeezed the trigger, her shoulders heaved, breaking her aim. The bolt hit much too low, piercing the center of the woman’s neck. The bolt left a sizable, circular wound, but the bolt’s body was not as damaging as its aftereffects. The heat and energy remained on the edges of the hole, searing deeper into her skin, filling the shuttle car with the rancid odor of burning flesh. A light hiss could barely be heard-- the sound of the woman’s blood vaporizing into steam. Once it dissipated, the red fluid gushed from the opening, staining her fingers as they uselessly tried to cover the wound. She tried to speak or scream or moan, but it escaped only as gurgling from her throat, accompanied by bubbles of blood. 

Pakra wanted it to stop. 

The woman was no longer a threat. Her needle pistol had fallen to the metal floor. Pakra brought her own blaster to the woman’s temple, thumbs crossed on the receiver. She squeezed the trigger. 

_“Ack---!”_ the woman made no noise-- in fact, the second shot abruptly ended all of the horrible gurgling. Pakra was the one who screeched, a sharp pain traveling up her wrist from the webbing between her thumb and index finger. The slicer’s body slumped to the floor, blood oozing out into a burgundy puddle below. 

She felt hands on her waist pull her backwards, her feet just stepping out of the range of the pool beneath her. 

“We have to go. Right now.” Her hands were still on the blaster when she turned to him. He thought her pallid face and agonized expression were the result of some emotional response, but upon seeing her fingers curled unnaturally around the gun-- and, her thumbs crossed over each other-- he realized she hurt herself. 

They didn’t have time for this. 

His cybernetic locked around the wrist of the caught hand, while his other hand grabbed the top of the gun’s slide. 

“Sorry.” 

Pakra didn’t have time to process what he was doing or what the apology meant. All of her thoughts were cut short when he jerked the gun away from her, freeing her hand, possibly at the expense of some flesh under the glove. She did not scream. She opened her mouth to do so, but only a low, guttural groan came out. 

“Come on.” He did not wait for her recovery. He grabbed her uninjured hand and forced her to move, running down to the opposite end of the shuttle car. He forced the emergency door latch open, allowing them to pass into the adjacent empty car. Pakra was operating completely automatically, her feet moving thoughtlessly as Bao-Dur dragged her. They reached the end of the second car, and upon scanning the interior of the next, they passed into that one, too. 

The shuttle came to an abrupt halt, almost surely knocking Pakra to the cold floor had she not been supported by the death grip of a cybernetic. 

The robotic tone of the intercom rang out with the same pleasant inflection as usual. 

<<THIS IS DOCKING BAY B. PLEASE WATCH YOUR STEP AS YOU EXIT THE SHUTTLE. YOUR SAFETY IS IMPORTANT!>>

They stepped out, Bao-Dur scanning the immediate area of the platform. Only a few others exited the other shuttle cars, and within a moment, the shuttle rolled away to the next docking module. Pakra’s eyes followed Bao-Dur’s anxiously searching for whatever he was looking for. 

“This way,” he turned her around. “We have to avoid security cameras.” 

He guided her down the platform, heading for a carved-out space under the stairway that led up to the docking commons. Her hand was beginning to numb. She could no longer feel the wet blood on her skin. She could feel herself beginning to hyperventilate again. 

“Hey,” he pulled her into the dark space below the stairwell. “It’s alright. Can I touch you?” 

Pakra heard him speak, but did not respond. She hadn’t registered what he asked. 

“I’m going to touch you, okay? I’m going to take your overcoat off. We’re going to leave it here.” 

Again, she did not respond, wide-eyed and breathing heavily. 

He unzipped the dark-colored parka, retrieving the blaster from the pockets before tossing the garment aside. He repeated with his own cloak, and then removed the respirator. 

Pakra watched him take the mask off. 

“ _IneedtokeepthatIneeditIneeditdon’tthrowitaway--_ ” her panicked begging was barely intelligible, but he was able to figure out her fear was centered on this respirator. He didn’t know why a Twi’lek on Citadel Station would need a respirator mask, but given her condition, he wasn’t about to argue. 

“Okay, we’ll keep it. I--” 

“ _GIVE IT TO ME.”_

“Okay! Okay,” he let her take it and she pressed it tightly against her chest. Her eyes were red and wide-open with abject horror. Bao-Dur didn’t completely understand what was going on with her, but whatever it was, she was terrified. She looked only marginally aware of his presence. 

“Pakra,” he whispered to her, as calm and non-judgmental as possible. Her eyes shifted up to him, arms still around her mask and wheezing. 

“Pakra, it’s okay. Breathe with me, okay?” Pakra tried taking a deep breath, but it shook uncontrollably, broken into several smaller breaths. “It’s okay. Do you want to put your head on me?” 

She nodded. He gently pulled her head in towards him, the side of her face pressed against his chest. 

“It’s okay. Just breathe with me. It’s fine if it takes a few tries. Everything will be alright.” 

She tried again, and again, and eventually, she lined up her inhalations with his. She progressively worked to make them last just as long, and then to exhale with him, too. 

They stayed there like that, until her breathing returned to normal. 

***

The return trip was not as inconspicuous as they would’ve hoped. The shuttles moving in the opposite direction-- from the docking bays to the recreational and residential modules-- were more busy at this time. In spite of their efforts to look like regular commoners, Bao-Dur felt obligated to stay close to Pakra, due to her vulnerable condition. Combined with her obvious physical pain and barely-contained emotional distress, it did attract some odd looks and concerned stares. But as long as they didn’t suspect them of murder, it was fine. 

Upon returning to the apartment, Bao-Dur sat her down onto the floor, leaning her against the side of the bed. She had become dizzy from blood loss, and her emotional state came in waves of feeling either everything at once or nothing at all. 

He knelt down by her, carefully removing the bloodied, black glove, straining to do so painlessly. It pulled at her wound in odd places, making it wince. 

“I don’t even know how it happened..” she barely got the words out. 

“It happened because you held the gun wrong,” he immediately retorted. “The slide sprang back and sliced you open.” Last night’s events were no longer clear in her mind, but she vaguely remembered his hands on hers, directing them to their proper place. The adrenaline must’ve made her forget. 

“Let me see,” he whispered, gently pulling her wrist with both hands. The sleeve she’d covered the wound with was now saturated with lukewarm blood, sticking stubbornly to her skin. He peeled the fabric back to see the cut, appearing deceptively small under the bloody mess. Lightly dabbing the area, the fluid cleared enough to reveal raw muscle and a sort of whitish collection of fibers just inside. Ligaments of some sort, most likely. Pakra leaned forward, trying to see what he was doing. 

“Don’t look,” he admonished her with enough sharpness that she instinctively recoiled from him, almost pulling her hand back, sending pain down the tendons in her wrist. 

Wiping away as much of the semi-dried blood as he could without hurting her, he tried to remember the procedure for giving stitches. It’d been a long, long time since he’d ever given someone stitches, and even back then, he wasn’t very good at it. He wasn’t even great at cleaning wounds, it seemed. 

Clicking his tongue, he moved to get some water. 

“Don’t look at it,” he warned her once again. As soon as he stepped into the bathroom, he heard Pakra emit a scared, shaky whimper. 

“I said not to look!” he grabbed the first cloth object he saw, which happened to be some kind of cardigan or sweater, and dampened it under the faucet. Her clothes were already bloodstained anyway. Pakra, shamefaced, held out the injured hand again and allowed him to tend to it. Fortunately, the flow of blood seemed to have stopped, although stitching it would still be prudent. He continued blotting the wound, waiting until it was clear enough to see the edges distinctly. 

Both of the aliens found their focus drifting upwards towards each other as the stagnant air around them became oppressive. A short game of visual tag ensued, in which one would notice the other’s gaze out of their periphery, but by the time they looked up themself, the other had already looked away. Pakra, always prone to staring, managed to be the one eventually caught-- not that it mattered very much, as both promptly broke contact once they met each other’s eyes. Both felt there was something that they ought to say. 

“I’m sorry.. Just a little stressed out,” he sighed, glancing back up at her. 

“S-sorry for stressing you out,” she replied. He couldn’t really respond with anything worthwhile. ‘It’s okay?’ That wouldn’t do, because it wasn’t really okay. Sure, some degree of stress was inevitable in their situation, but Pakra wasn’t making it easier on either of them. He accepted her apology with a smile, and she returned a hesitant one to him. 

“Do you have any analgesics?” 

“Any.. what?” 

“Painkillers.” 

“Oh.. um..” she didn’t think the giggledust would fall into that category. “No.. I don’t think so.” 

And here Bao-Dur thought that was the one thing she might’ve had on hand. 

“This is a long shot, but.. what about a sewing kit?” 

“Oh, yeah,” he was borderline shocked. “It’s.. um..” her face reddened again as her eyes scanned over the room. “Uh.. I think it’s.. in the drawer of the nightstand..” 

“..Alright,” he left her to apply the pressure on her wound as he searched the inside of the drawer. He could imagine the types of items that a young woman might keep right next to her bed, and tried not to let his eyes wander too much, but it was inevitable given that he didn’t know what his objective looked like. 

“I-It should be a black plastic box..” she stammered, watching him from behind as he stared inside. 

Much like her desk, the drawer was cluttered with seemingly random objects: battery cells, documents, pens, jewelry he’d never seen her wear. The only thing that caught his eye was a photograph, much like those that were on display. Pakra was in it-- younger than she was today. Maybe a teenager. Next to her was a human of similar age: messy blonde hair, heavy freckles, and absolutely high out of his mind. Birds of a feather flock together, it seemed. He flipped the photo over-- the box was under it. 

“This it?” 

“Yeah.. that’s it.” 

Inside were a series of sewing needles and two spools of thread. The needles were very well-worn and scratched to hell. He wouldn’t have expected her to sew. Most people in urban areas didn’t even know how. A conversation for another time, though. He threaded the least damaged needle with the thicker thread. The gauge of the needle was among the largest of the bunch, unfortunately for Pakra.

“I’m sorry, but this is going to hurt,” he told her, blotting at the wound one more time. Bao-Dur felt her stiffen in anticipation. “Just try to hold still.. And relax, if you can..” he was trying to find a way to secure her hand while he worked. She was pretty weak, so holding her down shouldn’t have been an issue, but he didn’t want to hurt her. He’d already noted how breakable she appeared to be. He brought the thick needle just above the very edge of the cut, on her palm. 

“Take a deep breath in for me,” he whispered. She obeyed, drawing in as she turned away from him. It’d hurt less if she couldn’t see it. “Now out.” 

As soon as she began to exhale, Bao-Dur pressed the needle through her flesh, snaking it through as quickly as possible so as to minimize her pain. It was little use, as Pakra yelped once the needle was halfway. He worried he might’ve hit something wrong-- should he withdraw?.. No. He was stabbing her. Of course it was going to hurt. 

She let out a soft, guttural groan as he pulled the needle out the other side. Her forehead was tensed, a few small beads of sweat forming. 

“Let me know when you’re re--” 

“Keep going,” she struggled out. “Please..” She just wanted to get this over with. 

He looked down as her free hand clutched the fabric of her shirt, expecting to be pierced again soon. Even if this wound was her own fault, he couldn’t help but feel some pity for her. She felt him bring the needle up to her skin again, and she attempted to take another deep breath. This time, Bao-Dur inhaled along with her, trying to steady his own hand. The point entered her again. 

Such is how the process went. A total of eight stitches were made in her hand. There was little in this room to keep her mind distracted from the pain of the needle boring through her. She tried to think of something-- anything, really. It was not surprising, then, when the first thing she returned to was what had happened less than an hour prior. 

There was nothing she could do to stop the tears from building up, eventually overflowing from her eyes in hot streams down her face. Once she’d failed in preventing their escape, there was no reason to hold back in any respect at all. Her hollow chest began to heave, ugly sobs forcing themselves out of her core, interspersed with unseemly sniffling. Bao-Dur wanted to stop, or at least ask what she was feeling, but she’d already seemed determined to finish the operation. So he pressed on, despite his heavy doubts. By this point, her body no longer responded to either the burrowing or the puncture of the needle. She hadn’t even noticed when he’d finished. 

He sat by her side, awkwardly watching her cry for a few moments, unsure of what might comfort her. He’d already ascertained that her current condition had little to do with her injury, nor the painful stitches. It could’ve been any number of things, he supposed, but the most likely culprit was obvious. Killing is no doubt an emotionally disturbing experience for most people, so it was not surprising that she’d be so upset. But he had the feeling it was not so simple. She’d always been very adamant against killing, regardless of who carried it out, or against whom.. Perhaps he’d dragged out some traumas that would’ve been better buried. 

“Pakra..” she turned to him, sniveling, face puffy. “Can I touch you?”

It seemed to Pakra that he wanted to comfort her, and that was true. For both of their sakes, though. Not only her own. He hoped that his presumption would not make her feel worse-- he accepted that she might’ve wanted him far, far away from her right now. If that was the case, he was ready to leave. 

“Ah..” she tried catching her breath, a little confused by his question, given how rigid he’d made himself out to be regarding the issue of late. Truly, Bao-Dur didn’t want to slip back into indulging physical affections again, and he felt that she needed to learn how to cope with her emotions without external assistance. He just didn’t think the correct time for that conversation was now. 

Almost managing to calm herself, she simply nods. He puts his cybernetic around her back, pulling her close to his side. Her head rested on his chest, tension and anxiety building up in her again as she forced back her tears. 

“It’s alright, I..” he stopped, unable to find the right words for her. He was going to say that he didn’t care, but that could very easily give the wrong impression. He _did_ care, just not about that. ‘Do what you must?’ Still too mechanical for this situation. 

Instead, he brought his hand towards her lap, fingertips just barely brushing against her thigh. She flinched, dumbfounded as to his intentions, before considering that he was going for her uninjured hand that rested nearby. Still unsure, she tentatively brought her hand closer, and he responded by taking it, his fingers curling under her palm. He squeezed her, almost too hard.

“It’s really alright.” 

She nodded before resting her head on his chest, synchronizing her breathing with his. Could he feel it, she wondered? Did he notice it? It didn’t really make a difference either way. In the end, she was the one who broke that connection, although involuntarily. Her breath trembled from her still-agitated body. He pulled her close against him, and she finally accepted it. She let the tears run down her face again, hot like blood.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle reminder about the explicit rating.

The body of the slicer was found only after reaching the terminus of the shuttle line and changing direction. It was determined to be around forty minutes after the woman’s death. She had two wounds consistent with blaster fire from close range. The first burned through her throat, and the second through her brain, killing her within ten to fifteen seconds. 

The young woman was identified as a contract slicer who had arrived less than a couple hours prior. She was commissioned to assist with the Restoration Project on the surface of Telos, and was en route there when she was murdered. She did not appear to have personal connections nor prior business connections on Citadel Station. Her personal effects remained on her body, including her datapad, identification documents, and several hundred credits. Theft did not appear to be the motive.

Jana Lorso was one of the first contacted regarding the young woman’s death. She was surprised, to say the least, that the woman managed to get herself killed within less than an hour of their initial conversation at the Czerka offices. On the other hand, contract workers often had shady or tumultuous backgrounds, so this wasn’t a first. But when she was informed that neither theft nor personal conflicts were the motive in the slicer’s murder, Lorso’s surprise quickly morphed into anger. 

It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. A whole team was ‘accidentally’ killed while scouting the external portions of the abandoned military base. And now, their slicer had just been executed. Someone was fucking with their operations here. Hell, she would’ve halfway believed that the communications outage was done to prevent her scouting team from contacting her before being executed, but shutting down all communications was unthinkably stupid. Either it was an unlucky coincidence, or their saboteur was incredibly incompetent. Perhaps in addition to the latter case, the culprit wouldn’t be significantly affected by an outage. That would rule out the Ithorians, who regularly needed to communicate with ecologists off-world. It would’ve also greatly inconvenienced the Exchange. But who else would it have been..? 

Unfortunately for Lorso, the officials on Citadel Station were reluctant to share any information about potential suspects. They assured her that they had some place to work from, but would not extrapolate on what they’d found, who the perpetrator was. Lorso _also_ knew that the law enforcement on Citadel Station was woefully underfunded and undertrained. This was in part because the station hadn’t very much crime to worry about up to this point. The few instances of violent crime had been fairly cut-and-dry cases, and more likely than not, they weren’t prepared for this type of investigation. 

Put simply, it would take time to solve this case. Time that Lorso didn’t have. But maybe she could buy more. 

***

Pakra couldn’t remember falling asleep, or even getting into bed. At some point, she became too tired to cry any longer. The last thing she remembered was laying down on Bao-Dur’s lap. Her eyes burned. She let them sink shut. She wasn’t particularly surprised that he put her in bed, but she _was_ surprised to see him sleeping across from her. It wasn’t unthinkable-- to say she’d been upset the night before would’ve been an understatement, so perhaps he wanted to be close, in case she needed something.. That said, the desk was only a few feet away. It’s not like it would’ve made that big of a difference. 

She almost wished he wasn’t there. It was understandable that he’d relax his boundaries a bit, given the circumstances. But it made everything harder. If he’d just stuck to the rules he’d set, then there would be no room to argue. No wondering about what was possible. In a strange way, him staying away from her would’ve been more reassuring. Or, if nothing else, at least it’d be consistent. Stable. 

Right now, he was only a few inches from her, but the uncertainty of why this was happening or what it meant just made that distance fucking unbearable. She couldn’t stand this liminal space that they were always stuck in. It was like Bao-Dur was trying to take them back to a place which they could no longer return. For better or worse, Pakra was determined to see what was behind the closed door awaiting them, but that was not a move she could take alone. 

For now, she just wanted to get away from him. 

It was just past five in the morning. The cantinas were closed by now, and most everything else hadn’t opened yet. There wasn’t much she could do except meander the mostly-empty corridors of the station, and without any distractions in sight, she tried taking the opportunity to sort out her thoughts. 

What happened yesterday felt so blurry in her mind. From the anticipation that started first thing in the morning, to the adrenaline when they’d stalked the slicer, and the overwhelming panic after Pakra killed her, the relative emptiness she felt now made the whole ordeal feel like a distant nightmare. The only proof that any of it had happened were the messy stitches cutting down the webbing of her hand. It would almost definitely leave a scar.. a permanent reminder on her body. 

She supposed she should hate Bao-Dur for what happened, but it’s not like she was without blame, either. If Pakra really cared about that woman’s life, then she would’ve found some way to stop her death altogether. The scouting team on the surface died too, but that hadn’t affected her nearly as much. This didn’t seem so much an issue of morals, then, as it was proximity. So long as she could be blind to the reality of what death meant, that was more important to her than the death itself. 

Pakra grimaced at that thought. Most everyone viewed themselves as a good person. Everyone views themselves as the hero of their story. 

Maybe she wasn’t quite as good as she would’ve liked to think. 

When she was approved to join the Restoration Project, she thought that everything would change. She would be in Republic territory, where there was law and order, and she wouldn’t have to suffer or fight anymore. Yet, somehow, things did not seem so different after all. 

Her distraction came in a high-pitched whistling. She hadn’t thought that it was towards her-- who’d be whistling at her? After scanning for the source of the squeaking, she wished it truly hadn’t been for her. 

There he was, standing at the entrance of the Exchange compound, waving one scaly, sucker-tipped hand at her as he leaned against the wall. She had yet to have a good interaction with this noxious person, but she also could use something to take her mind off of things. It’s not like she could feel any worse. 

“Wow!” the Rodian squeaked as she reluctantly plodded towards him. “You look like shit!” 

Indeed, she did look like shit. She hadn’t the energy to shower or even change out of last night’s clothes. It would probably have been an ordeal with her injured hand, anyway. 

“A pleasure, as always..” she mumbled. 

He tilted his head, leaning in a bit. She felt a little intimidated, despite the two being almost equal in size. “Rough night?” 

She leaned back. “..something like that, yeah.” 

“I don’t take it you’re trying to get in here, are you?” 

“N-no..” the Exchange compound was the last place she wanted to be right now. Talking to this fucker was pretty close to the bottom, too.. Or, it would’ve been in normal circumstances. “I wasn’t going anywhere, really..” 

“Hmm, is that so..? Something on your mind, right?” 

“No.. not really.” 

“Oh, sinya,” he scoffed. “You just happened to want to go for an aimless, empty-eyed stroll at five in the morning? It’s alright. You can tell me,” he was.. smiling, maybe? She wasn’t great with non-humanlike expressions. 

She scowled. What a nosy person. “So you can put it in my file? No, thank you.” 

“File? Some delusions of grandeur you have, girl.” 

“I used to work for the Exchange. I know you keep dirt on everyone,” she sneered. Pakra knew she was most definitely still in their system, being one of their ‘employees’ about a decade back. 

“Oh, curious!” his antennae perked up. “Was the Twi’lek an _‘indentured servant,’_ I wonder? Or is there some terrible skill she keeps hidden under that innocent facade?” 

She suddenly felt very insecure, tugging at her sleeves. “I was a kid.. It’s not important anymore.” 

“Huh.. I wonder where the girl’s from..? Hiring kids, not unheard of.. But tricky business in Republic territories.”

“I.. I don’t appreciate your incessant questions..” 

“You walked over to me!” he sounded both offended and surprised, as if expecting this near-stranger to talk so openly about her life history. “You can walk away if you don’t want to talk. Mope on your own, sinya.” 

“It’s Pakra..” 

“Huh?” 

“My name is Pakra.” 

“She has a name, then. I am Alonak.” she didn’t ask, but got his name anyway. “Is this permission to peek into your records, then?” 

“N-no.. I used a different name back then,” Pakra shifted nervously. 

“Oh, I don’t actually want to see it. If you had any secrets worth knowing, you’d either be in the compound or rotting in the ground.” 

She winced at the words, knowing all too well that was true. She’d left her apartment to either forget or to sort things out, and she hadn’t succeeded with either. There were other ways to cope, though. 

“I wouldn’t suppose you’d have yarrock, would you..?” She whispered as she tugged at her sleeves again. 

“Yarrock!” Alonak exclaimed a little too loudly for Pakra’s liking. “Oh, that Zabrak.. Did he tell you about it? Usually those Iridonians hate it. They’ve got some real batshit rituals around the stuff. Straight up traumatizes them or something..” 

Well, Bao-Dur certainly hadn’t sounded fond of it. She was surprised that the Rodian would know that much, but more surprised that he remembered who she’d been with the last time they met. 

“It’s not for him. It’s for me,” she whispered, sternly this time. 

“Yeah, I have yarrock. Lucky you! What do you want? Tabs? Panes? Cubes?” He apparently had no intention of keeping his voice down. Pakra was generally on edge about this sort of thing, having not had much experience with how spice was dealt with in the Republic. But he didn’t seem particularly concerned, and it’s not like there were many people around. Actually, how did the Exchange manage to operate so publicly here, anyway? 

“I don’t care. How much for three hits?” 

“Seventy-five.” 

“What! I heard it went for ten a hit back home..” 

“Well, Iridonia’s a constant shitshow and we’re low. It’s seventy-five.” 

She frowned, but fished out the seventy-five credits anyway. In her precarious situation, she should’ve been more stingy with her money, but she didn’t care at this moment. 

“A pleasure, as always,” he sardonically mused. She swiped the tabs from him: tiny, cotton-like squares in individual plastene packets. 

“Are you always here at night?” 

“Not always here,” he squeaked, pocketing the credits. “But around.” 

“I see..” she trailed off, not quite sure where to go from here. Alonak also seemed to quiet down, suddenly not so interested in conversation. Maybe he’d intended to sell to her from the start. “Well.. thanks for the yarrock.” 

“Mmhm. See you, Pakra.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him. He remembered her name, and he didn’t like the sound when he spoke it. After holding her glare for a moment, she turned on her heel, back to her home. 

Upon returning, she caught off-guard by finding Bao-Dur was awake. He was at her desk, doing nothing in particular. Perhaps his thoughts were busy, too. 

“Good morning,” his tone was soft and clear, almost mismatched with how exhausted he looked. Pakra wondered if she hadn’t been as quiet as she’d thought when she left. 

She greeted him in turn, but neither picked it up from there. There was a feeling that something was wrong. Something needed to be righted, but there wasn’t much that could be said or done to make things better between them. Bao-Dur assumed she’d left to be alone, and if she’d come back, then she was fine with presence again, but he wasn’t going to assume that she wanted to talk. He was also disinclined from asking stupid questions as to where she went or how she felt. It was better to be straightforward. 

“Do you want to talk about last night?” 

Pakra brought her arms around her. “I.. I don’t know.. I don’t know if there’s anything to say.” How she felt was already obvious, so there was no reason to belabor it. “I think I.. I just want to forget it,” she declared, looking up at him. 

“Alright. I won’t bring it up, then.” 

“Thank you..” she muttered, settling back onto her bed. “But.. Bao-Dur..” 

He turned to her again, waiting. 

“Do not ever ask me to do that again.” 

It was the closest she’d ever come to giving him a command under normal circumstances. He was surprised by how authoritative she’d managed to sound. 

He nodded. “Okay. I won’t.” 

It was her turn to be surprised. “Just like that..?” 

“Yeah.” of course, while there was no way to know at this moment, that might cause issues down the line. But it’s not like he could say much else on the matter. “..like I said, I can’t make you do anything.” 

Pakra had expected some attempt to negotiate the matter, however gentle it may have been. He’d succeeded at convincing her at every point thus far, so it would’ve been reasonable to assume she could be swayed this time, too. But he didn’t even try it. Maybe it was the way she’d said it, or last night’s extreme reaction, or the particular sensitivity of committing murder. Whatever it was, he wasn’t going to push it. It made things easier, for sure, but if he’d tried to persuade her, then at least she would’ve been able to feel some righteous anger towards him. The more he pressed her, the more justification she could give herself for her actions: she could convince _herself_ that her actions were not entirely her own decision. As it was, she didn’t have room to shift the blame of the matter. 

It made her angry nonetheless that he was so level-headed, so detached from all of it. Did such a traumatic, barbaric thing really affect him so little? Or was he just suppressing how he felt? Both possibilities were upsetting, but she wanted to know which was the case. She wanted to break down the wall that he’d built between them. 

“I just bought yarrock.” 

Bao-Dur felt a tinge of venom in her tone. He is certain it’s the first time he’d heard her sound vitriolic. Why she sounded this way, he wasn’t quite sure. He watched her toss a few plastene packets on her nightstand, staring at him intently, waiting for something. He could understand if she was angry, but he didn’t know what it had to do with this subject. 

“Will you take it with me?” 

“..I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” 

“I’m taking it either way,” again, spiteful in tone. Bao-Dur began to realize that even if she said she just wanted to forget about it, it was still on her mind. She was far from over it. And perhaps she wanted to punish him for it. 

Yarrock was not a mild drug. The physical effects were not as intense as many other forms of spice, but it was almost always a very emotional, or even spiritual, experience. Taking it after such a stressful, traumatic event could significantly worsen her feelings of remorse. But if she was going to take it anyway, then it would be better if he was here with her. She certainly couldn’t be trusted to take care of herself. It might be better if he were present, but sober.. but, he’d been in extremely stressful situations while taking yarrock-- and under duress, at that. Comparatively, even if she did freak out, it would be nowhere near as difficult as situations he’d already successfully gotten himself through. 

“..alright, Pakra.” 

Her ears perked up, astonished that he’d actually agree to it. 

“I’ll show you how.” 

***

Yarrock was developed by spiritual leaders on Iridonia. It was derived from the root of a plant of the same name. It was extremely toxic in its raw form, but when properly decomposed and distilled, the hallucinogenic chemical could be separated from the poison. In premodern times, the warriors of Iridonia were given a small amount of the plant’s root-- essentially poisoning themselves-- prior to battle. Eventually, yarrock was developed as a means of avoiding the detrimental health effects while retaining its cultural and spiritual significance. 

Although it came in many forms, the paper-like form was the most common. The derived chemical was soaked on compressed sheets. It was then separated into square ‘tabs,’ less than a square centimeter in size. Only a tiny amount of yarrock was needed to get a discernible effect, and packaging it in a small, thin medium made it easy to transport and hide. 

Bao-Dur instructed her on how to take it. She’d heard about it before, but like most of her knowledge, it was completely based on rumors and susceptible to exaggeration and misinterpretation. No, he told her, the yarrock would not leach into your skin if you touched it. No, it would not crystallize in your spinal fluid and be ‘reactivated’ years later. No, it will not burrow holes in your brain. 

She watched Bao-Dur do it first. He slid the paper onto his tongue, careful not to let it touch his lips or teeth. She followed, her shaky fingers pulling the paper-thin drug from its packet. She popped it into her mouth as quickly as possible. It immediately stuck to her tongue, melting into a fibrous mass in the same manner as cotton candy. Though, surprisingly, it had no taste at all. Within about ten minutes, the substance dissolved completely, but she felt no effects. He told her to take the opportunity to have a snack and some stimcaf-- something about not being able to eat once it kicked in. 

After about two hours, her head began to feel fuzzy. Her body felt unbelievably heavy, almost as if fixed to her bed. Small movements became very arduous-- not physically so, but mentally, she had to completely resolve herself to successfully do anything at all. It was like teaching herself how to exist as a material form. Her vision was becoming oddly sharp: every object in her direct view felt strangely real. Things were always real, but not _this real._

“Pakra.” 

Her vision dragged as she turned to him, sitting beside her. 

“You good?” 

“Um.. yeah, I..” she didn’t know how to explain how she was feeling to him, but she probably didn’t have to, huh? He took it, too. The fact that he was doing this with her now made her feel some strange way. Perhaps that was more significant than she’d initially thought.

Pakra could not help but wonder about who Bao-Dur really was. He was a Zabrak technician from Iridonia.. He served in the Republic’s military, and afterwards, he came to aid in the Restoration Project. That really was the extent that she knew, huh? She felt closer to him than one might expect from knowing so little, but perhaps that was inevitable, given the nature of everything that they’d done together. 

“Bao-Dur,” she nudged him. “Talk to me.” 

“About what?” 

“Yourself,” she smiled, waiting. He did not look nearly as excited by the prospect. 

“Oh, no.. I’m not very interesting, really,” even now, she could see the gears turning in his head, trying to spin something plausible to avoid talking about himself. “I doubt you’d be entertained by my boring life story.” 

“I see..” the disappointment was clear in her voice. “I was just thinking.. I don’t know very much about you.” 

“It’s better that way, right? Less complicated,” in spite of those words, Pakra thought she detected some regret as he averted his eyes from her. “Anyways.. I’m sure there are plenty of things you’d rather keep to yourself, too.” 

“So.. there _is_ something specific you don’t want to tell me..?” 

Regret was replaced with defensiveness, which he let dissipate before responding. “What exactly do you want to know, Pakra?” 

“Um.. I don’t know..” It seemed he was willing to answer whatever she asked of him, but it’s not like there was any one specific thing that she wanted to know. “How old are you?” 

“Thirty-two.” 

“Oh.. I see.” So there was a decent age gap between them. “I’m twenty-three..” 

That did --at least in part-- explain why she was like this. He didn’t remember being this much of a mess at twenty-three, but maybe he was just a mess in a different way. 

“Fascinating. Are you satisfied now?” 

“You don’t need to be so defensive..” 

“I’m not.. _defensive._ I just don’t like talking about myself,” he did look rather uncomfortable. “Not everyone is a people person.” 

“I guess..” Pakra could relate if that were the case, but was that actually all it was? Perhaps she could ease into getting him to talk about himself by inquiring about something tangentially related-- after all, she had a much easier time talking about Nar Shaddaa than the specifics of her background. “Well.. will you tell me about.. Iridonia, maybe? What was it like there?” 

“You’ll have to be more specific.” 

“Um..” she didn’t even have a baseline knowledge of Iridonia for which to expand upon, barring what he’d told her about yarrock. “What’s the first thing visitors notice?” 

“Iridonia doesn’t get ‘visitors,’” he remarked drly. He hardly ever saw non-Zabraks before he left his planet. 

“Why not?” 

“There are.. a lot of reasons,” he sighed. He was willing to bet that Pakra was aware of the stereotypes regarding Iridonians, judging by the abject terror in her eyes for the first few days that they were together. Much of the galaxy thought of Iridonians in much the same way as Mandalorians, except that Iridonians were seen as more ‘feral’ and ‘animalistic,’ perhaps by virtue of being almost entirely composed of a non-human species. He didn’t really want to talk about it right now. 

“It’s not exactly comfortable if you’re not used to it. Almost unbearably hot, frequent volcanic activity… It only rained once every couple of years where I lived. We had dust storms fairly often, though.” 

“Ah.. sounds like Ryloth.. some parts of it, at least.” 

Bao-Dur turned to her, tilting his head with a light smile. “Right.. What is your relationship to Ryloth, anyway?” 

That was a complicated question. Slavery had dispersed Twi’leks throughout the galaxy. Although Twi’leks were always associated with the planet-- sometimes even called ‘Rylothians’ instead of Twi’leks-- many of them had no connection to their species’ homeplanet. Pakra was one of such people. She had no idea if her ancestors were slaves, refugees, or just immigrants, but one way or another, they found themselves on Nar Shaddaa. It had been many generations since any of them had even been to Ryloth. They’d forgotten the language, the culture, the traditions. Pakra considered Nar Shaddaa her place of origin (for better or worse) rather than Ryloth, but in spite of being born on the smuggler’s moon, it seemed many non-Twi’leks were determined to think of Ryloth as her ‘true’ home. 

“I.. I don’t know..” she frowned as she thought about it. “I always thought I’d go there someday, but.. I don’t know if I really want to now..” 

Bao-Dur had no personal connection to the experience of being part of a diaspora in this manner. He couldn’t really relate, but his species had established many off-world colonies. Some Zabraks from these colonies considered themselves Iridonians in some transcendental sense, but the native-born Iridonians saw them as originating from their colony world, not Iridonia. 

“What had you hoped to find there?” 

She shrugged. “Myself? Isn’t that how it goes..?” Certainly many people, not just Twi’leks, visit the planet of their species’ origin as a sort of cultural pilgrimage. “But I think.. It might just make me feel like _more_ of an outsider..” 

“..I see.” he supposed that she had no connections to being a ‘Rylothian.’ “Is Nar Shaddaa your home, then?” 

Another frown. She had thought about this earlier, when she was wandering the corridors. In the strictest sense, Nar Shaddaa was her ‘homeworld,’ but to call it ‘home’ would imply some attachment that she didn’t have. “I don’t know if ‘home’ is a place or a state.. Or both?” she turned to Bao-Dur. 

“That doesn’t sound like a question I can answer for you.” 

Disappointing, but he was probably right. It seemed the ideal time for discussing metaphysics, but perhaps he thought it best if she worked through it on her own. 

“I _fled_ Nar Shaddaa. It can’t really be my home.” 

“People run away from home all of the time,” he retorted. That was true, but for it to truly become home again, she’d have to go back, and she had no intention of such. 

“Well.. is Iridonia home to you?” 

“Something like that, yes,” he didn’t look quite prepared to discuss the subject. “For the record, I do personally think that it’s both.. Home, I mean.” 

“Oh.. have you found that, uh, ‘state,’ then..?” 

“Maybe in the sense that you’re looking for. But definitely not in the sense that I need,” his smile was despondent, quickly fading as he zoned out. “I’ve spent a lot of time searching for it, but I haven’t found it yet..” 

“How did you look for it?” 

“Planet-hopping, mostly.. If you’d asked me back then, I probably would’ve said I was searching for meaning or some nonsense, but.. I think I was just trying to run away.” 

“From Iridonia?” 

“No.” Pakra waited for an explanation that Bao-Dur had no intention of giving her. The yarrock made the wait feel agonizingly long. He eventually broke the silence, but avoided the obvious follow-up. “Eventually I realized that I wasn’t going to find it by running. So I stopped. And here I am,” he smiled. 

There was something in his words that weighed down on her chest. She felt like there was an answer for her hidden somewhere in their conversation, if she could only make the connections in her mind. 

“Keep talking, please.” 

“About..?” 

“Iridonia. It doesn’t matter what.” 

“Um..” what was there to say? Most of what he could tell her would seem so obvious and uninteresting to him. Although, non-Iridonians seemed to find the strangest things fascinating. “Oh, I don’t know.. My family was part of the professional caste.. I grew up with two siblings of the same mother, and six siblings of a different mother..” 

She tilted her head. “So.. all.. half-siblings? 

“Maybe.. I don’t know,” she did not understand. “Iridonian family structure is.. quite different from the human standard. Put very simply, it’s matrilineal, and most Iridonians don’t know who their biological father is. Children are raised more communally, so.. it’s not like it’s that important.” 

She blinked, staring at him. “..that’s.. really weird.” 

“If you say so,” he didn’t like the tone she had, but she probably hadn’t meant to cause offense. “I guess some of my ‘siblings’ might have just been cousins, or some other distant relatives, but we treated each other like siblings, so it didn’t really matter.” It had been a while since he’d thought about his family on Iridonia.. Or, well, he assumed they were all still on Iridonia. He wasn’t exactly ‘estranged’ from them, but he hadn’t tried to contact them in a very long time. 

Pakra picked up on his vague melancholia. “Do you miss them?” 

“Sometimes, but you know how it is.. You become an adult and you find different paths. People come and go.” 

She was technically an only child, so she couldn’t _exactly_ relate, but she did consider her childhood friends to be akin to siblings. And she knew that drifting apart could be just as painful as falling out. “That’s.. kind of sad, Bao-Dur..” 

“It’s life,” he stated it flatly, but looked far from unaffected by the matter. “..One of my first projects was modifying an old radio to pick up intergalactic signals. Looking back on it, we probably could’ve gotten in a lot of trouble.. I think we were able to pick up military transmissions with it. We found them very boring though,” he laughed. “No.. late at night, my siblings and I would hide in the attic, messing with the frequency until we picked up music from Vortex. None of us understood it, but it was still beautiful,” he tried to remember the melody, but it was hopeless. The music of the Vors was something you always longed to hear, but which constantly escaped recollection. The inability to reproduce those unique sounds is what made their songs so renowned. “My sisters had so much fun dancing to it. My brothers and I were always too self-conscious to join in.. it seems so silly now.” 

She watched his eyes flit gently, visually piecing together those fond childhood memories. Pakra could almost imagine it herself: his sisters kicking off their slippers and twirling with an invisible partner in that dark, dusty attic. Bao-Dur didn’t join them, either from some childish sense of masculine stoicism, or simple shyness, but he was so delighted to see his sisters’ joy. So much that it stood out in his mind as a cherished memory of his home, even decades later. Pakra wondered if his interest in engineering came before or after. 

Initially, she wanted him to feel some small fraction of the despair and agony that she’d felt yesterday. Or, if he already felt it, she wanted him to show some sign. Admittedly, it was a horrible wish on her part. She could be truly vindictive, but even so, it seemed that her vitriol had accidentally produced something much more significant. Even now, he felt guarded, but his eyes betrayed that sense of calm that he felt when he spoke of Iridonia. It was a fondness, a love even, that she hadn’t ever seen him express before. 

“Bao-Dur..?” 

“Hm?” his voice, his smile.. were soft as ever. She couldn’t figure out how to express the way he made her feel. The emotions that he caused to stir in her were unlike anything she’d ever felt, and in this moment, she could feel the dam holding them back begin to disintegrate. Her words would always be lackluster. No matter how long she contemplated them, she was still an awkward, clumsy girl, completely unqualified to verbalize her feelings for him with the beauty and grace that they deserved. In spite of her inadequacy, she needed to say something, as colorless as it might be. 

“I think..” her lungs constricted, and she reached out to him to get the strength to continue. She stopped upon remembering his request to not be touched, instead clutching the sheets between her fingers. 

“I think I’m falling in love with you.” 

His mind had still been lost in memories of Iridonia, but upon hearing her words, he was wrenched back into the present.

“What?” he turned to her, looking almost as nervous as she was. 

“I’m in love with you, Bao-Dur,” those words came out so light, without even the slightest hesitation. At least in this moment, she was sure of it. 

Her high was only intensified by that confession, but for Bao-Dur, it elicited a much different feeling. 

“No--” he stopped once his eyes met hers. He’d been so affected by her words that he’d almost forgotten how sensitive of a situation this really was. Both of them should’ve been careful, but he’d long given up hope that she’d ever be careful about anything. He’d have to make up for her. 

“Pakra.. you barely know me,” he summoned the quietest, softest tone he could manage with this level of anxiety. “Your feelings would change if you knew more.” 

The first part was.. kind of true. Cohabitating and working together on such sensitive work accelerated the growth of their connection, but how much of him did she really know? She’d learned more about him on this single night than she had in the last three months. Three months.. even that timespan was fairly short, and for most of it, they had no contact at all.

“I.. I want to know you, though..” 

“Do you, really?” his voice raised, but he didn’t look angry. He just looked.. troubled. With the yarrock, he found it difficult to keep his focus on performing. “Are you ready for that?” 

An ominous question. Pakra had already figured out that he was hiding things from her. What it was, she didn’t know, but everyone had regrets. Everyone had experiences they’d rather forget about. She was sure that he was no different. It made sense that he would be afraid to open up about them, but she knew that it wouldn’t change anything.. right?

“I’m ready,” the earnest determination of the squeaky girl would’ve been funny in most any other situation. But right now, it only made him look more depressed. She really had no idea what she was getting into. “Every time I learn more about you, it only makes me like you more,” she smiled.

“Ugh..” Somehow, that seemed to make him feel worse. He met the girl’s confused, worried stare. “I’d like to believe that.” 

“Then why don’t you..?” she whispered. 

“It’s not that simple.” 

“You don’t need to make it complicated..” 

That was just one more of the many issues at hand here. Pakra was young and naive. She had hardly even formulated her own sense of identity. How could she possibly understand the complexity of the issues here, let alone how to navigate them? 

She could only gaze at him, his gold eyes staring back. The fibers in his irises extended in thin, flame-like patterns to the ochre-colored boundary line separating them from the scleras. They reminded her of scorched earth, perhaps not unlike the desert canyons which defined the surface of Iridonia. They broke contact with Pakra’s gaze, moving up to her lekku and down their length before slowly scanning the rest of her face. It would have made her extremely self-conscious, had his expression not hinted that he was only halfway looking at her. Rather than actually scrutinizing her, his gaze just absentmindedly moved across her features as he silently contemplated this situation. Much like when he was asleep, his face was melancholic, his spice-addled mind unable to suppress whatever haunted him. She only watched him until he met her eyes again. He did not appear any less uncertain. 

Careful to maintain their mutual gaze, she leaned in. 

“Bao-Dur..?” once again, her voice was soft and pleading, shaky from her own anxiety. 

Their nerves would have been unsteady even without the yarrock; with it, the tension was practically unbearable. Both of them wanted it to end. It would not until Bao-Dur responded. He wanted to believe that she might love him in spite of what he’d done. He still believed that this might end very, very badly for both of them. If they sought out what awaited beyond that closed door, would it be worth the risk? 

One thing was certain: no matter how much he kept trying to run from this, they kept ending up back in this same spot. 

“Do you think very much about the future, Pakra?” 

“Uh..” Both of them already seemed to know this answer. “No.. not really..” 

“Right.. I didn’t think so,” Pakra’s face reddened a bit at hearing the words. “Would you be willing to go into this, not knowing how it will end?” 

It was not simply a matter of working through their respective traumas. Even if they were able to get past their interpersonal issues, there were a multitude of external factors to worry about. It would be even more painful if they were able to be together, just for them to be separated in the end. 

“It’d be better than to keep wondering, right..?”

Bao-Dur knew that listening to someone with as little impulse control as her wasn’t advisable when it came to such a sensitive situation. But, maybe he needed to be less rigid with his self-control.. or maybe that was just a convenient excuse. She’d been persistent enough at whittling away at the wall he’d put up that he’d begun to consider whether it was really necessary.. Or, at least, he wished that it wasn’t necessary, and maybe that was enough to let her in, even if only for tonight. 

If this continued into tomorrow, then he’d have to tell her that they’d have to be very careful. But for now, they didn’t have to worry about anything beyond this room. 

“Come here,” he gently guided her to him, settling her body between his legs, her side pressed against him. He leaned in, just centimeters from her lips. “This might feel.. odd.” 

Indeed, it was _very_ odd. Not the kiss itself. There was nothing wrong with the way that he kissed her; on the contrary, she was ecstatic that he not only accepted this, but he actually initiated it. But the spice heightened their tactile senses, making even the smallest touch feel almost unbearably intense. Combined with her overflowing emotions, it was difficult to process everything happening at once. Even so, she did not want to stop when she’d wanted to do this so badly. With some trepidation, she kissed him back. 

She stayed there, curled up in his arms and timidly kissing each other for what felt like forever. It was probably not more than a few minutes, but the yarrock altered their sense of time, and neither paid mind to the ticking of the clock, anyway. It was not until Pakra brought a hand to his face did he escalate as well, having been waiting for some sign that she was adjusting to these strange sensations. 

Bao-Dur ran the fingertips on his right hand down her chest, purposefully moving between her breasts and avoiding direct contact with them, lest it become too much for her. It made little difference, though: she responded by arching her back, forcing her breast to graze against his palm. He could smell her, that musky, earthy scent that had always been impossible to ignore. And now, it was particularly strong. Stronger than ever before. 

“..I can smell how wet you are,” he whispered between kisses, breath hot against her neck. She was simultaneously made aroused and self-conscious by it, knees knocking together as she whimpered, feeling his cybernetic dragging up her thigh. She hadn’t even noticed how excited she’d gotten, having been too focused on what he was doing. Bao-Dur, as an apex predator, would’ve naturally had a keener sense of smell than omnivorous species such as herself. The thought that he might’ve smelled her arousal in the past was.. a little embarrassing. 

It was terribly unfair, too. 

Not to mention she was disadvantaged in this position. Even so, she nudged his leg over a bit, trying to situate herself better. Moving her hand blindly, she felt him, halfway behind her, sharp fingernails clinking against his metal belt buckle. Trying to undo it like this would’ve been a lost cause, so she resigned to keep moving. It did not take long before she felt his erection against her hand, her fingers instantly recoiling back as if she’d done something very wrong. But god, did she want to touch him again, and the soft gasp by her ear made her think he liked it, too. 

Both of his hands moved to unfasten the clasps on her cardigan, kissing her as each came undone. She arched her back again, and he pulled it off without complication. The fabric of the loose-fitting undershirt glided over her erect nipples, giving only a faint but alluring impression of what waits beneath it. He tucked his fingers under the hem, slowly working it up her waist, eventually exposing her. Her chest rose and fell sharply, clear as he looked down at her. 

“I’m sorry.. they’re not very big..” 

“Always apologizing,” he smiled. She fumbled as she turned to face him again, arms locked at her sides, fabric of her shirt tucked under her arms. Although it gave him a clear view of her breasts, she appeared stiff and uncomfortable. 

His memory of the dream was foggy to begin with, and it had only gotten dimmer since. But, what had truly captured him about that dream was not simply the sight of a woman’s body, or even Pakra’s specifically. It was the warm, inviting way that she presented herself to him, as if there was no person in this galaxy with whom she would feel safer. Right now, she looked insecure. He didn’t know if it was something Pakra could have outside of his imagination. 

She looked downwards slightly, lips parted, cheeks lightly flushed, waiting for some appraisal or rejection. Instead, he leaned into her chest, lingering there for a moment, letting Pakra feel him breathe against her nipple. She closed her eyes as the tip of his tongue met her chest, flowing over the hard tip in warm, wet strokes. 

She reached back down, running her fingers down his erection, working so very delicately at first, but she is too wound up to maintain that pace. Within a few moments, she’s pressing hard against him through his clothing. He continues licking her breasts, but his rhythm is frequently interrupted by short gasps, those adorable sounds only making her want to stroke him more. She was absolutely enchanted by those vulgar sounds, combined with the twitching and stiffening against her hand. So enchanted that she hardly noticed how frighteningly tight his cybernetic was grasping her waist. 

He was taken as far as possible, but it wasn’t far enough. The restriction of his clothes and their awkward positions prevented it. Pakra was perfectly content with fondling him like this, but it was too frustrating for him. His hands slid down her sides, and Pakra was snapped out of her fascination by the sharp sound of metal clinking on metal, realizing that he was undoing his belt. 

Something welled up in her chest as she thought about it. She could not tell if it was a moment of sobriety or the yarrock intensifying, but it all was overwhelming. In a few short moments, he would have his belt removed, and it was just a quick hand movement left from there. No, she was not ready to see Bao-Dur’s erect cock right now, nevermind watching him cum. 

“Bao-Dur..” she managed to mumble out his name in between kisses, whining as his fingers pressed deeper into her flesh. He apparently didn’t register that she wanted to say something, assuming she’d just purred his name in satisfaction. Feeling how much he liked when she said his name.. made her even more reluctant to stop him. But she knew she had to. 

Her hand stopped touching him, and instead grabbed his wrist. “W-wait..” 

Upon hearing that single word, he immediately drew back, meeting her eyes again once his hands stopped. His pupils were fully enlarged, only a tiny sliver of gold iris visible along the edge. Her mouth still slightly open, she could feel his hot breath on her tongue, the sound of his breathing just barely audible. It was nearly driving her insane. She prayed that the yarrock would just wear off now, but she had no such luck.

“I would.. rather wait, until we’re.. um.. in a more stable state..” she laughed a little nervously, almost upset with herself for being uncomfortable. “..I’m sorry.” 

“Ah, no.. don’t apologize,” his voice was soft and quiet, but clear. “...Thank you for telling me.” He punctuated his words with a smile, razor-edged fangs showing slightly. 

Both of them felt a little awkward as they separated, but there was at least some solace in knowing that it wasn’t a matter of not wanting intimacy per se, but rather, just being in a suboptimal condition. The spice would wear off eventually, and then they wouldn’t have anything preventing them from getting closer.

Probably.

Hopefully. 

She rolled over onto her stomach, nestling her face into her pillow, hugging it tightly. His eyes traveled up her thighs, over her hips and the curve of her spine. Thinking her flesh looked smooth and deep, he brought his organic hand to her, dragging it across her skin. It was definitely smooth, although not so deep. She opened her eyes from half-rest, a mild blush still staining her cheeks. The yarrock was no longer at its peak, but it was undoubtedly still in effect.

“You aren’t going to sleep, are you?” 

Pakra shook her head. “I don’t think I can..” 

“Yeah. It does that,” the yarrock made it practically impossible to sleep. It made you wired: you could practically feel the electricity sparking between your synapses. But even if you managed to overcome it, the hallucinogenic properties forced you to see patterns where there were none. The swirling afterimages of light on your eyelids could not be ignored for long enough to fall asleep. 

As he stared at Pakra now, he thought that this girl was.. from a conventional standpoint.. probably about average-looking, or even below average for a Twi’lek, to put it bluntly. Even so, in this moment, her image glossed with serenity, he thought she was beautiful. Almost unreal. She belonged here, the faint contrast of her pale blue complexion against the unblemished ivory of her bed, skin too soft, too perfect. But it was more than that. She really did look at peace: the same way she’d looked in his dream. 

She noticed his staring, a smile on his face. “W-what..?” 

He shook his head, unsure if he could even express what he felt. “I was just thinking, you look.. serene.” he laughed, thinking he said something kind of embarrassing. 

She buried her head halfway into the pillow, muffling her own sheepish voice. “S-stop.. Don’t make fun of me…” 

“I’m not.” tentatively, he reached out for her, and in spite of her self-consciousness, she accepted them, curling up in his grasp, digging her head into his chest. “...you _are_ kind of cute when you’re embarrassed, though.” 

“S-stop it!” her continued objections, coupled with the reddening of her face, only evoked more giggling from Bao-Dur. 

Regardless of what she said, she silently wished that they could stay that way forever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite initially starting this with the intention of having them get together, I considered having their traumas prevent that from happening because I thrive on suffering. I decided that would be too depressing, though. I still haven’t decided if I want a happy ending or not, and I don’t know how possible it is to have one. Remains to be seen :^)


	20. Chapter 20

Lorso had spent the previous day speaking to representatives on the Telosian Council. It was not something she relished doing; honestly, those Republic bureaucrats could be awfully uptight and self-righteous about their mission here. Thankfully, this wasn’t her first time interacting with them, so she had a decent idea of which members would be most susceptible to her rhetoric. Though the council nominally agreed with the idealistic goals the Republic had for Telos, it’s not like the work existed in a vacuum. The Republic had other reconstruction efforts on planets that weren’t entirely leveled. They had a whole military to fund. If they could outsource some of their responsibilities to cut down spending (and some of the logistical paperwork, if they were lucky) then they would be happy to do so.. even if it came from a source as ethically questionable as Czerka. 

Getting a last-minute hearing wasn’t difficult for someone with her status, and she was generally pleased with the reception she’d received. Czerka was taking charge of the Restoration Project itself, so why not give them greater control of operations on Citadel Station? Yes, she was confident that they’d see things her way. 

Still, even after she got confirmation, it would take time to bring in mercenary forces to take over law enforcement. If the Republic’s officers had information on the murder of her contract slicer, then she wanted it now. Perhaps she couldn’t do anything with it for the moment, but perhaps she could. Anyway, she trusted her own intuition on the matter much more than hired guns. She didn’t pay them to use their brains. 

And so, she had to rely on the Exchange for the time being. Czerka Corporation and the Exchange had worked together many times in the past, in many places, in many contexts. They were useful insofar as the criminal organization had no regard for the law, or even keeping up appearances of caring about it. When Czerka had no legal methods of achieving their goals, then the Exchange was there to provide ‘extralegal’ assistance.. for the right price, that is. 

So an undercover Exchange operative within the Republic’s law enforcement team would smuggle out whatever evidence was collected in regards to the case and bring it to her. Czerka’s involvement with the Exchange was a rumor among the public for some time, but even so, she would rather not confirm that relationship to her subordinates. And so she waited in her office prior to the compound’s official opening. It was painfully early.. she had always been an early bird, but not _this_ early.. Funny. The Exchange operative would probably go to sleep not long after this. 

Thinking that, she saw a figure appear on her security monitor. Someone was just outside the door, tapping lightly against the metal door. Did he really think she’d hear it..? 

She pressed the intercom button. “Come in,” she muttered into the receiver as she hit the door release. The operative said nothing in reply, but she watched him step inside. The compound wasn’t very big, and he would eventually find her office on his own. But she knew that these types would take any opportunity to snoop around. Best not to give him the time. 

She met him inside the entryway. Fortunately, it seemed she had gotten to him quickly enough-- he was still busy inspecting the immediate interior. The compound eyes of the wretched little creature met her gaze, and she recoiled at seeing this strange reptilian staring straight at her. As far as Rodians go, he was a typical specimen: short, with green scaly flesh perfumed with a noxious effluvium emanating from his pores. 

“Miss Jana, right?” the squeaky, high-pitched voice fit the slight man, but she found it unpleasant all the same. 

“Yes, that’s right. And you are..?” Lorso’s posture was stiff. She couldn’t help being uncomfortable around the Exchange operatives. They cared nothing for the law or even optics. They were ruled solely by credits, and that made them unpredictable. 

“Alonak,” he mumbled, drifting back to visually inspecting the room. “You always open this early? No wage can be worth it.” 

“No, it’s just me,” she stated flatly. She had no desire to make small talk with the Rodian. “You’re the one who got the files?” 

“Hell no. I’m just delivering your product, Miz Jana,” a Rodian would look more than a little out of place on their team. It made sense that the operative would want to keep his identity a secret, hence the.. delivery boy. 

“Please, no ‘miss’ is necessary,” she grimaced. “Let’s talk in my office.” 

She led him into the compound, moseying a bit too leisurely for Lorso’s tastes. He picked up the pace only upon noticing her glare as she waited at her office door. 

“So here’s what we got,” Alonak produced a folder from the interior pocket of his utility suit. She pinched it, dropped it open on her desk and peered at the contents. The documents were clearly copies of the original files, and appeared to be scanned in a hurry, judging from the wonky angle of the printing. It was legible, though, and that’s all that mattered. 

The documents laid out much of what Lorso had already learned while questioned the other night. Approximate time, cause, and place of death. The autopsy report was included, and so she learned of the exact injuries the slicer sustained, and the suspected weapon used. Photographs of the body at the crime scene as well as at the morgue were attached. The young woman was shot in the neck first, bleeding two to three pints of blood before being dealt the killing blow. Hell of a way to go. 

Tucked under the stack of papers was a holotape recording. Alonak rocked on his heels, becoming impatient as he watched the Mirialan flip through the documents. 

“Well, I can just see mys--” 

“Wait,” she commanded. It was enough to stop him from moving at all, reflexively straightening his back as he would under the scrutiny of any superior. She didn’t bother looking up to see it. 

Taking the tiny holotape disc into her fingers, she pressed it into the slot of her datapad with the care one might exercise with a priceless artifact. The grainy footage projected onto the screen after a brief moment. 

It was obviously taken from a security camera in one of the shuttle docks. In the lower corner, she sees two figures step out of a shuttle car. One is wearing a respirator and a hooded cloak.. the characteristic outfit of a Ubese. The figure looks around and upwards.. probably searching for security cameras. The other looks briefly in the direction of the camera before being turned by the Ubese, heading in the opposite direction, and eventually out of the camera’s sight. Lorso rewinds, pausing on the moment the second figure’s face is on-screen. 

The second figure is dressed similarly to the Ubese, with a hooded cloak covering their head. They had no mask, although a pashmina partially obscured their face. Assuming the Ubese was average height for the species, it would make them somewhat short: a little below average height for a human woman. But this was not a human. Although appearing humanoid in form, her face had a blue tint.. It was difficult to ascertain much beyond that, given how little of the person was actually visible, and how low-quality the footage was. 

But.. didn’t her face look familiar, somehow? 

She glanced at Alonak, who was viewing the frame as well. His antennae were standing straight atop his head, eyes wide-open and fixed on the video. 

“What? What’s wrong?” Upon hearing Lorso’s voice, the Rodian snapped back to rest. 

“Hm? Oh, it’s nothing.” 

***

To Pakra’s surprise, there was no headache, no nausea, no soul-crushing depression. There was nothing. There hadn’t even been a nightmare last night. The yarrock had worn off by the time she went to sleep, meaning she had gone to bed sober _and_ without a care in the world. It’d been a long time since she could boast both of those. Was it because of the yarrock, or because of Bao-Dur, she wondered? 

Speaking of Bao-Dur, where was he? He wasn’t next to her in bed.. But his prosthetic was still sitting on the nightstand, so she couldn’t have imagined he’d left. Forgetting your own arm seems like quite the oversight. 

She could faintly hear running water in the bathroom.. He must’ve been taking a shower, then. 

Yesterday’s events were astonishingly clear in her mind. He’d agreed to take yarrock with her-- why, she had no idea. Maybe he felt bad for putting her through the trauma of the day prior. Regardless of his reasoning or lack thereof, it led to the two spending most of the day simply talking to each other, not really about anything pertinent to their work together. At some point, she’d become emotional by some story she connected to, and in her altered state of mind, made a second confession to him, this time outright saying she ‘loves’ him. Even through the post-hallucinogen afterglow, she was aware of what a stupid thing that was to say, but she did believe it yesterday. 

They ended up disputing that point, and rightfully so, but in the end, he didn’t reject her a second time. 

Pakra pulled the sheet over her chest, only now remembering that her shirt was off. God, she really let him suck her breasts last night. And, she felt him up almost to completion, entirely on her own volition and without provocation. Neither would have happened under normal circumstances, but she’d been far from sound, for numerous reasons. Her normal inhibitions caught up to her at least, preventing things from going any further, in spite of how badly she wanted to fuck him. 

She pulled the sheet up further, completely covering her head. She hoped that she might dissolve or just disappear, but she had no such luck. There was no choice other than to wait and see how Bao-Dur would react to her. See if a night of rest brought him back to his senses. He was always maddeningly practical with her, but he was not a droid, even if he wished he was. He was a person, and that inconvenient fact meant that he could never fully hide the glimmers of emotions best left in the recesses of his mind. But he was as persistent as she was: he rebuked her efforts to get him to open up to her, and she did not know if that could really change after a single night. If he insisted that they move past it, then would it really be possible to simply forget about what had happened? If not, what would that mean for them? 

The faint hum of the running water ended with the harsh squeak of the metal valve closing. Pakra shimmied the sheet off of her face, watching the door as she clutched the thin fabric. With every second that passed, her heartbeat quickened and her knuckles grew whiter, until the door slid open with the same dull, banal _thump_ as always, a complete anticlimax for the anxiety that had built in her chest. Out stepped Bao-Dur, only half-dressed, undershirt in hand. He recoiled at seeing Pakra’s doe-eyed stare, bringing his hand up to partially obscure his chest, the best he could do with only a single arm. 

“Sorry.. Did I wake you?” 

“No, I don’t think so..” he might’ve, but she didn’t care even if that was the case. He said nothing in reply, and her eyes broke contact as she found it increasingly difficult to ignore his body, still agleam from showering. Perhaps she’d seen a similar sight at some point last night, but the memory felt almost like a dream. It was vivid and crisp when she recalled it, but it was almost surreal in texture. This, however, was very real, and his only marginal apprehension confirmed that she hadn’t just imagined what happened yesterday. 

Bao-Dur felt slightly self-conscious by her wide-eyed stare and threw on his undershirt in reaction. For most, it would be a challenge with a single arm, but he’d done it enough times that it went over without too much fuss. Not that his success helped-- in fact, it might’ve just made Pakra more fascinated as the white fabric stuck to his skin, made slightly translucent from the dampness. The faint outline of his nipples and navel made her swallow hard. 

“We’ve talked about the staring,” he gently chided her, giving her a half-teasing smile as she turned away. 

“S-sorry.. I just..” she looked about her apartment, now herself self-conscious. She didn’t know if she could really say whatever it was she thought. He wasn’t acting that much different from usual, although she wasn’t sure what she was expecting. Was he going to try to forget about last night? Was he trying to pretend it hadn’t happened? Questions that she wanted to ask, but didn’t know if she wanted answered. 

He walked around to the side of the bed as she trailed off, sitting at the edge when it became clear she had no intentions of completing her thought. While he’d become accustomed to performing most of his daily routine with his amputation-acquired disability, some things were practically impossible even before. Pakra took notice of his hand fidgeting with the back of his undershirt’s collar. It seemed there were a line of buttons up the back that allowed for him to get the garment over his horns without ripping the collar to shreds. 

“I can get it,” Pakra crawled over to him, holding the bedsheet against her still-bare chest, playfully swatting his hand away as she deftly fastened them. Her tiny fingers were much more suited for that sort of thing-- and, she had twice as many as him right now. When finished, she took a deep breath, letting her hands slide over his shoulders and wrap around him, digging her face into the nape of his neck. While she couldn’t make a determination of his expression from behind, she felt his fingers skim her forearm. Such a small thing, but she took it as confirmation. Last night he’d been much more aggressive.. She wondered if it was the yarrock that made him act out of character, or if it simply gave him the motivation to do it. 

She squeezed his shoulders tighter, and he grasped at her wrist in response. She felt the timorous rise of his chest, held in for too long to be inconsequential. 

“I’m maintaining that this is a bad idea,” he just barely looked over at her. 

“That’s okay,” Pakra cooed. “I love bad ideas.” 

“Yeah.. I know.” his resigned tone almost made her feel ashamed, but in spite of her recklessness, he was still fond enough of her to be here now. 

“Pakra,” he softly pulled on one of her arms, still wrapped around him. She followed his tactile cue, letting go of him as he guided her in front of him so that they faced each other. She still held the sheet against herself, shy about her body and wanting to maintain some semblance of chastity. He pet her face, a light gaze fixed on her as he searched for the right words. For a moment, she was afraid that he _really was_ going to tell her to forget about last night. He inhaled as he brought his hand on her covered waist. 

“Let’s keep this a secret, okay?” he whispered, as if someone might hear them in this empty room. 

“Mmhm. I promise” she smirked, or tried to, at least. What was meant to look mischievous appeared more like the barely-contained excitement it really was. 

“I mean it, Pakra.” His unnerving yellow eyes made it clear that this was neither lighthearted nor negotiable. It was frustrating, to have finally reached this point and to still have to be so rigid, but it was not Bao-Dur’s fault. This was simply the way that things had to be. 

So Pakra nodded, visibly dismayed by the thought, but knowing it would be safer that way. All things considered, she was probably not the one endangered by this situation-- Twi’lek women were already assumed to be promiscuous and were heavily sexualized across species. Many would perceive her as proof of Twi’lek perversity, but she was probably not in physical danger. Bao-Dur, as an Iridonian Zabrak, was seen as inherently dangerous and predatory, prone to committing all manner of violence and abuse. In other words, he was going to be seen as a threat to everyone, especially to a girl as physically unimposing as herself. It wasn’t unthinkable that someone might think her in need of protection from her Zabraki partner, whether she asked for it or not. 

His eyes warmed thereafter, the two again finding mutual comfort in silent commiseration. No, it wasn’t a pleasant situation for him, either. There was the anxiety of it all, to be constantly on-edge about others’ perceptions was stifling enough prior to this point, and they weren’t even fucking. It certainly wasn’t going to get any easier. But there was also the indirect ostracization that came from the mere fact that concealment was a necessity. No matter how close they got to each other, there would also be a gnawing in the back of their mind, telling them that maybe they really were doing something deeply debaucherous and unnatural. 

He leaned in, lips meeting hers in a soft, slow kiss. His hand still rested on her waist, and her body warmed as she embraced him until her skin practically burned. Upon pulling back, she was flustered, complete with a stupid grin. 

“First sober kiss,” she giggled. 

“Oh.. yeah, I guess you’re right,” he couldn’t help but smile back at that pitiable, silly girl. “Is it better that way?” 

It was certainly a different experience. She didn’t know if one state could really be ‘better’ than the other, though. Being on yarrock was definitely more of an airy, euphoric experience, but.. being sober was just more ‘comfortable.’ It was warm and fuzzy and real. 

“Um.. I think I n-need to try it again before I can say,” her nervous laugh was met only by the usual poker face. 

“You can just say you want more.” 

It was much more direct than what she was used to. The intensity of his voice and stare made her look away. Her embarrassment did little to dampen her desire, however, and accepted him when he pulled her back in, leaning back onto her unmade bed. They laid there for a few moments, exchanging what began as short, playful kisses, but which quickly grew into something much more carnal. His tongue brushed against her lower lip, and she reciprocated with hers. The warmth inside of her was kindled into a fire that burned in her core. 

When they parted, they met each others’ eyes, visually hitting one another in the most perfect of ways. Both of them wanted to pick up where they’d left off last night, that much didn’t need to be said. But even so, one of them had to make a move first. Pakra was too anxious to do so, still in some disbelief that this was all real. Bao-Dur had reservations of a different sort. 

He brought his hand from her waist to her cheek, taking a moment to decide what to say. The girl was laying on top of him, bedsheet thrown to the wayside, breasts pressed against his chest. She took note of his trepidation as her fingers fidgeted impatiently with the collar of his undershirt. 

“Are you on any contraceptives?” 

The words brought her a little closer to reality-- a feeling that she wasn’t overly fond of. Her lips pursed to think of more barriers. “Oh.. no..” 

His thumb rubbed her face, a small smile attempting to reassure her. 

“We should wait until you visit a doctor, then.” 

“Mmhm..” she half-heartedly agreed. She couldn’t deny that it was the prudent thing to do, but she still didn’t like it. It was the first thing on her mind when she’d woken up, and she knew she wouldn’t find calm until she had him. But he was right. She should’ve learned her lesson on this topic, but her emotions were always stronger than her rationality. Her mind wandered down the possible rationalizations for doing something so irresponsible. 

“Um.. can Zabraks and Twi’leks even.. er.. mix?” 

It was a reasonable question, but Bao-Dur didn’t have a definitive answer for her. The two species didn’t have much of a cultural or historical connection, and despite the presence of Twi’leks across the galaxy, Zabraks were much rarer off-world. Neither of them had ever seen or heard of such a union, let alone one which produced children.. 

“I don’t know, but we should still be safe.” 

“Yeah.. I guess that’s true,” her words contradicted her pouty frown. “But.. we can still do other things, right..?” 

“While I appreciate your enthusiasm, you’ll have to wait. I have other things to do.” 

Pakra wasn’t known for being licentious. She’d gotten along perfectly well without looking for sex, and in fact, had practically forgotten about her sexual desires after coming to Citadel Station. Now, though, she was a mess of hormones and unresolved emotions, both of which might be temporarily assuaged if she could get some confirmation through intimacy. She supposed that she should be satisfied; after all, everything he’d said this morning was perfectly reasonable. Spending a full day with her fucking around on hallucinogens should’ve been enough of a detour, but she could not help but feel that his leniency was an attempt to make up for the incident that led up to all of this. But, she did need to get to the Ithorian Compound, and maybe returning would bring some sense of normalcy back to her life. 

She mournfully dismounted him, rolling over onto the bed. As he sat back up, he took a momentary glance at Pakra, meaning to get a quick final look at her near-naked body before getting to work, but was distracted by something unusual at her waist. Her eyes shut as she faced the ceiling, she didn’t seem actively in pain, but it definitely looked a nasty injury. 

“..I’m sorry.” 

“Huh? What?” Pakra’s eyes opened, her arms defensively coming to cover her exposed body, completely unaware of what he was apologizing for. That is, until his fingertips lightly tapped her right side, sending a dull pain through her torso. She twisted to get a look at the spot, and sure enough, a massive splotch of reddish-purple stained her skin, creeping up her waist and the side of her back. The sight was terribly confusing before Bao-Dur clarified the likely cause. 

“The pressure sensitivity isn’t nearly as acute as a normal hand.. I’m sure the circumstances didn’t help,” he laughed, a bit nervously, waiting for her response. 

“Oh.. it’s alright, I didn’t even notice before..” 

He shook his head, thinking her much too passive. “I’ll be more mindful next time.” 

Pakra nodded, feeling her heart skip suddenly at the words ‘next time.’ Best not to dwell on it now, though: he did not need to remind her that they had work to do, which they had so irresponsibly shirked yesterday. With that, she attended to readying herself to go out, while he began reviewing the tapes from yesterday. 

To his surprise, there was very little to review. He’d thought that the prior day’s execution would’ve at least added some chaos to Lorso’s office. The woman who was in charge of Czerka’s operations was hot-headed in the absence of outsiders: for every ounce of shrewdness she was lacking a pound of tact. So why was the office so conspicuously quiet..? 

The slicer, being killed in such a public place, would surely have been discovered early yesterday, if not before then. There could only be one plausible explanation, then: Lorso was not silent. She was absent. 

Where was she, then? The timing couldn’t be just coincidence, and Bao-Dur could not help but worry about its significance. The fact that the bugs were still online meant that Lorso wasn’t aware that she was being recorded, so she didn’t leave for privacy’s sake.. Unless she was purposefully trying to mislead them about their plans? No, that wasn’t likely.. Lorso was smarter than that. She wouldn’t do something so suspicious and then follow up with false information. If she was outside the Czerka compound, then it would necessarily follow that whatever she was doing was not simply internal affairs. She was dealing with other organizations. Who, or for what purpose, he had no idea. 

Pakra could not hear the content of the tapes (or lack thereof), but took note of Bao-Dur’s discontented expression. 

“Is everything okay..?” 

He looked up at her, now carefully regulating his image so as not to further concern her. 

“It’s nothing,” he smiled. “We’ll talk later.” 

Pakra was not so sure, but there wasn’t much room for debate. And, she really did need to leave, anyway. With that, she left, Bao-Dur watching her, the girl’s heels dragging a bit in her oversized boots. 

As he moved on to today’s recordings, it became clear that the peculiarity of yesterday’s tapes was not some fluke. While the day prior’s tapes were characterized by a lack, today’s were marked by an unexpected presence, much earlier than the compound generally opened. The bug in the entryway picked up a conversation between Jana Lorso and someone Bao-Dur hadn’t heard before. The voice was high-pitched, spoke Basic with a noticeable accent, and identified themself only as ‘Alonak.’ Lorso and ‘Alonak’ spoke of ‘files’ of some sort, the contents of which were unclear. He couldn’t even discern where these files originated from, or with whom ‘Alonak’ was affiliated. The uncertainty was frustrating, but Bao-Dur was sure that whatever was going on in the Czerka compound, it wasn’t going to work in his and Pakra’s favor.

Meanwhile, Pakra did her damnedest to appear as normal as usual. She gave an awkward greeting to her complex’s receptionist-- who by now knew much more about her private life than was comfortable-- and picked up her favorite tobacco-stimcaf to help her through the day. To her surprise, the corridors of the station were the same as ever: an impressive diversity of people rushing to and from work, most of them looking tired and vaguely disgruntled under the oppressively-bright overhead lighting systems, regardless of where they were headed to. The world had kept moving along as usual, in spite of the disorder of her own life. Nobody made any indication of knowing the many sins she’d committed in the past 48 hours, no stares, no accostments or detainments. It was almost unsettling, in some way, that she’d experienced so much in such a small breadth time, but even something as serious as a murder had very little impact on the average person. Maybe they’d heard about it, and maybe it scared them to think that someone could be killed in the middle of the day, in such a public space, in a place as innocuous as Citadel Station. But in the end, work still had to be done and rent still needed to be paid. 

Such was her thoughts as she made her way to the Ithorian Compound. She passed by the Czerka Compound, as usual, noting the presence of the armed guards stationed just outside the entrance. She averted her eyes from the cold stares of those powerful men as she passed by, wanting to think of anything other than Czerka. And she would’ve been able to, and her commute would have been nothing unusual, had she not veered so close to the Exchange Compound’s entrance. 

She did not even bother to turn her head to it: the door to the Exchange Compound was undecorated, as one might imagine, and never had more than a single person waiting outside its entrance. A monitor was positioned next to it, ostensibly to allow visitors to make appointments, but she’d never seen it in use. Despite keeping her eyes firmly fixed in front of her, once she stepped within range of the entrance, thin fingers grasped her wrist, forcing her to a halt as pain traveled through her still-bandaged hand. It pulled her to the side, out of the main foot traffic, and Pakra immediately recognized her assailant as Alonak. 

“What is wrong with you?!” she kept her voice down, but could not hide her irritation. Seeing this man was sickening enough under normal circumstances, and right now, it bordered on intolerable. It was the first time she’d seen him during day hours.. It felt a little off, somehow. 

“She’s gotten herself in some real trouble, hasn’t she?” 

The ominous words only brought Pakra further from her facade of normalcy. Alonak was a rat bastard, she thought, and perhaps he only said such an unsettling thing to coax some secret out of her. But that didn’t explain why he physically stopped her in broad daylight.. She couldn’t imagine it was something he’d do on a simple suspicion. 

“I don’t have time for this,” she whimpered weakly, forcing her wrist free of his spindly fingers. The heavy heels of her boots clicked defiantly against the metal floor as she readied to leave. 

“Oh, believe me, you do,” he mused, even more knowingly than before. Pakra flinched. “I think you will want to hear what I saw this morning.” 


End file.
